It was His Bullet

His hand was quivering violently as he stood there with his eyes closed and his finger on the trigger. He felt the cold metal against his temple and heard them chanting “pull it you chicken!” and “come on there’s only one bullet!” The night was cold and damp and where they stood mud squished beneath their sneakers. He looked around the circle and knew that though he was the first one it could be him. He hated this game and it was the first time that they forced everyone to play. They went on until someone was dead and everyone run away. He wished he never joined. But where he lived you didn’t feel safe if you weren’t in one but you didn’t feel safe if you were in one either. You always had to watch your back and you could never go anywhere alone. Where he lived you learned how to fight young and death was a everyday thing though everyone feared it. He came back to himself and found his cousin in his face screaming; “shoot it!” So he did….it was him….it was his bullet….if only he never joined.

View this story's 1 comments.