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Challenge of the Week CCXXV
You're on the wrong end of a chrome .45 with a pearl grip. Write a story or poem about what put you there, and which end of the chrome you're on. End the story with the last words you will either say to the other, or the last words you will ever hear. A big, fat $25 is at stake. Winner is decided by likes. Go.
Cover image for post Surprise, asshole., by dustygrein
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dustygrein
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Surprise, asshole.

The weight of the little gun is comfortable, in the waistband of my jeans. My sweater hides it, so no one will see it until it decides to bark, and then the only one I will be looking at will never see anything, ever again.

He left me broken, bleeding, and probably thought I would never survive. He beat me bloody, used my body for his own selfish needs, then threw me into the swamp beyond the campground. My mother always warned me not to trust guys I just met, but he had money and cocaine, and I was naive and more than a little hungry for the nose-candy.

I played dead as I floated away from the little canoe. I had thought it was a very cool looking boat, when it was still on top of his van. I was so fucking dumb.

I remember I slowly turned my head just enough to grab a quick breath, doing my best not to scream at the pain that permeated my body. My face hurt bad; I didn’t know that worse pain was still waiting to happen, once the numbness wore off from my damaged nether regions. I chanced a small glimpse, and saw that he had rowed away. He obviously thought I was dead, and that the gators would take care of the evidence.

I floated there for at least 20 minutes, breathing shallowly, and on the alert for predators. I grew up in these swamps, and I knew that bleeding in the water wasn’t a wise idea. Luckily, the only critters I saw were a heron and some squirrels chattering in the trees.

That was nine months ago.

I healed, and after some minor surgery, I can even show my face in public again. The large dark sunglasses and hat are a perfect camouflage, and will allow me to get close enough to him to finish my plan.

I intend to stick this little pearl-handled beauty in his face, hoping he sees the barrel grow to enormous size, before I lean in and say “Next time you rape and kill a girl, do it right — oh wait, there will never be a next time.” I need to see him sweat just a little before I pull the trigger.

After that, who gives a fuck… I will have saved some girl from experiencing what I went through, so regardless of what comes after, it will be worth it.

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© 2023 dustygrein

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