Barrel

Very short story I wrote that reminded me of Postal, 214 words. A writers block exercise!

I gripped the barrel with bated breath. Truthfully, I didn’t wanna do any of this – the sickness this world was filled with, I would let it all go to peacefully move through my life. Ignorant. Unaware. What would be the point of awareness when it’d turn out like this?

I gripped the barrel with tensing hands. How tense would they have to be to stop the shaking? The recoil? The reverberations from the screaming devils I would have to mow down? I wasn’t even sure if this was my mantle to take on.

I gripped the barrel with eyes unfocused. Maybe if I kept my eyes this way I wouldn’t be able to tell the demons from the humans. I already had a hard time with that, ever since… Ever since what, exactly? My mind was so cloudy, so muddy I couldn’t tell yesterday from tomorrow. Swirling dread, soupy emotions.

I gripped the barrel. The stock. The trigger, just a hair away from my finger.

There were two options for me: I step through that door and take on this unnamed mantle, or I stop the harbinger within me before he can make his move.

No happy endings. They’re not allowed in a story like this.

I gripped the barrel between my teeth.