The Grand Conclusion

The man sitting across from Joe Doe looked back at him unwavering. Pulling the gun swiftly out of his pocket, he put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger – which was met with a resounding CLICK.

In a cross manner, the gun was removed from the man’s mouth and laid out in front of Joe. His turn.

“What the hell?! This dick has some fuckin’ nerve,” Joe thought to himself. But he’d show him. No one got away with that kind of fanfare.

Glaring back at the two dark blue eyes sitting across from him, Joe’s mouth split into a big grin, revealing a row of yellow stained teeth. “Watch this then…,” he thought back at the two unblinking eyes.

Joe lazily flopped the gun barrel into his mouth and applied pressure to the hard, cold metal under his index finger.

The man sitting across from the table watched as the hammer falling coincided with the most lurid sound a man can hear; the cracking of gunpowder and the flashes of light intermingling to create a gruesomely horrible scene.

For an instant, Joe sat looking like a pumpkin, light coming out of his mouth; and the next that imagery was gone, replaced by the lagging mix of matter (colored lightest at white and stepping randomly to darker shades) that seemed to hover out of the back of Joe’s head. Blood filled Joe’s mouth and seeped out in streams over his hand and the gun.

As Joe’s eyes, still wide with surprise, quickly lost their color, his body hunched over the table, the blood covered gun sliding out of his sanguine (though quite unlucky) mouth and rapping loudly on the surface of the wood.

The smell of sulfur softly lingering in the air, a single hand calmly slid across the table, grasped the gun, and pulled it back to the man with blue eyes. Gripping the handle and pulling the weapon up to the light, the letters R U G imprinted on the side of the steel being the only things visible between the rubicund paint now amply covering its surface, the hand twisted the gun so that its width aligned laterally to the man’s body, the barrel facing away from him.

A single, dexterous finger found its way to the side of the drum, as an opposing thumb applied pressure to the drum lock. And in a composite movement, the finger and thumb swung the drum off to the side of the revolver, the extra force causing it to spin on its axis ever so slightly.

A second hand joined the viewpoint and, clutching the spring loader, caused it to pull out, sending the contents exiting.

Two perceptible pitches of sound carried through the air; the first was the light clanging of an empty cartridge hitting the tabletop. The second sound was the louder clatter of four full cartridges falling the short distance.

The edge of Cain Hammond Thaler’s lip pulled upward into a small smirk, and he chuckled softly before he spoke.

“What a dumbass.”

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