he admires it
smiling to himself as metal he is holding gives off a dull sheen of oiled steel
the lines of the weapon seem beautiful, the grip smooth and warm in his hand
he carefully loads a single round into the cylinder not wanting to marr the perfection of the cold steel
he slides the cylinder back into place and gives it a spin then he opens his mouth, and lets the barrel rest on the roof of his mouth
the bitter oil tastes to him like a forbidden nectar and he revels in the smell of cordite, it gives him a rush
he thinks of the life he wishes to leave behind, remebering all the things that caused him pain, the first of which is
love
he pulls the trigger
click…
friendship
click…
then, out of a mist of sadness, her face comes unbidden to his mind
her eyes…
his finger squeezes on the trigger, taking the slack off the 3lb pull, for the last time