Isolated - A Short Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two youths trapped in a room, fighting for just a moment of light

Submitted: January 08, 2009

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Submitted: January 08, 2009

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As I look out the window, over 25 stories off the ground, I feel cold steel pressing against my temple. Sweat drips down the side of my head as I hold in my hand a revolver, pressed to my temple. My finger is on the trigger; it twitches. I want to pull the trigger. I want to end it all now. But I can't. She won't let me. Her voice echoes through my mind. Sitting on the couch, her back to me, "Don't do it, don't do it, please don't do it" is her mantra. For the last 20 minutes, I've stood here with the gun to my head - in the chamber rests two bullets. I don't dare turn around and look at her.

It started out as an argument – being in this room put us on nerves, but as we fought I realized it was pointless. We were stuck here. I took the gun, the only thing given to us, and walked to the large window. As I looked at the vast metropolitan landscape I thought of the people leading their normal lives, while we were up here, guaranteed to die. I placed the gun to my head and in my mind began to count to five for the last time in my life. She went silent the second the barrel touched my skin and stayed silent for, one, two, three, four, fi…

"D…Don't do it" It started out of as a whimper, and became a repeating sob, then she broke down into a full-on fit, complete with crying and screaming. Lasting for god knows how long she finally found her spot behind me; back to me and legs held up against her chest, chanting to herself. In between chants she tells me I still have something to live for, that we'll find a way out of this room, that soon everything will be fine. The only way she could be more cliché is if she told me that the power of love would save us.

But maybe she's being honest. These cliché sayings, burned so deep into her mind that they're all she can recall in such a state of panic. Acting so optimistic these past two days, because she needed me to stay calm, because it was the only thing keeping her sane? I slowly pull the firearm away from my head moving it towards the floor. My fingers relax, maybe a little too much, because somehow the gun discharges - sending a bullet flying through the hotel room wall.

From behind me erupts a primal sound that I will never be able to describe. The roar quickly becomes a sob before I can reach over to grab her. I want to let her know I am alive but I can't move. I am paralyzed, for what seems like minutes. Finally I reach over the couch; she jumps as I place a hand on her shoulder. Her head whips around, at a speed that I would have expected to break her neck. Her face turns into a tear-stained smile as she utters, "You fucker. Don't scare me like that" as she erupts into a nervous laughter.

For a minute we both laugh, for a brief moment we forgot about how two days ago we awoke in a hotel room, with no memory of we got here. We forget the feelings our body felt as we realized the phone line was dead, how water only worked at times like 1:11, 2:22, 3:33 and so on, how the only thing in the refrigerator was a revolver loaded with two bullets, how no matter how hard we slammed around the room there was no sound other than those of the city below us. For a split second we were happy.

We need to find a way out of here.


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