.357 - The Haunting

what’s wrong? nothing and everything. but I don’t expect you to understand that, baby.

Cooper stumbled to the bathroom carrying the near empty bottle of Kentucky’s finest mash. The revolver hung precariously in his right hand.

hell, I don’t even understand it.

His eyes glared back at him in the bathroom mirror. damn, what a mug shot. They looked like bombed out craters. The last two days had turned him into a zombie.

He dug the muzzle deep into his temple. His finger twitched.


He opened the cylinder. the primer’s dimpled. Hell of a time for a misfire, he thought.

His hand trembled as he closed the cylinder. Russian roulette isn’t a game I like playing, but let’s see fate do that twice.

Cooper winched at the sound of the firing pin hitting the bullet. damn, fate is good. The gun skidded across the bathroom floor.

“Mommy says it’s not your time.” the small voice resonated off the bathroom tiles. “She says you have to avenge us.”

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