The gun on the table mocks me. It calls to me. It knows me. It knows my secrets. It knows everything I’ve done. This dormant metal god, looks at me. “Do it. Do it. End it now. End it all. Put my cold metal shaft between your lips. Embrace bliss”.
The easy way out? To blow the back of my head out? To eat lead? What would they say about me? Coward? This proves my guilt? I know what the whole world thinks of me now. Would it just prove them all right? It calls again. My hand reaches out.
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
