Russian Roulette Buzz Fisher The gun was loaded and so was Bill. The gun with bullets and the boy with pills. Confused and alone - his whole world gone to shit. So much in this world that he would never get. Bill didn’t know why he started to cry. He shouldn’t be sad - he wanted to die. Time passed slowly... he could hear the clock tick. He finally pulled the trigger and heard only a click. Four chambers empty - a 50/50 chance remained. “This will teach them to call me insane.” It had taken all day and into the night. Then suddenly, the flash of light. Red and blue bouncing off the wall. Over a bullhorn he heard a policeman call. “Put down the gun - don’t be a fool. We know what happened today in school.” At school, he thought - what a long time ago. Remember what happened? Could they possibly know? Bill had killed that teacher... he couldn’t remember how. Probably shot her... it didn’t matter now. He closed his eyes and started to shake. How much more could he possibly take? He was a gambler - always had been. Never had better odds - at least, he couldn’t recall when. Put the gun to his head and again he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed - his troubles would get no bigger. The policemen stood outside in the rain while in his home, Bill had eased his pain. The cops dropped their heads, trying to conceal their tears. Thoughts of their kids - unspoken fears. If it could happen to Bill why not their own? Where can they turn when they feel all alone? When drugs are the answer to the questions of life, when decisions are made by a roll of the dice? Society dictated Bill’s decline - no more deserving than your kid...or mine. |
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