Once she pulls the trigger, a bullet would pierce the epidermis of her scalp.
The barrel will become hot and burn her hair along with every nerve in that small radius of her head.
Very quickly, the bullet would travel through her next layer of skin. The barrel, the trigger, and the hand which holds it, shall be pushed away from her body by force.
As the bullet tears through every nerve, through every vessel which flows to sustain her life, she would start to waver.
In that excruciatingly small moment between the trigger and her skull, perhaps she would regret it. Perhaps she would think of her family, her acquaintances who were not yet friends, of those things she had hoped to experience in life.
But then the bullet would shatter her skull;
and there would be no more chance to stop it.
That ever so little, unassuming ball will let free the dam surrounding her brain. Water mixed with blood would pour forth as black plastic falls from her limp hand.
Then the bullet would pierce her brain.
Nuron after nuron would fire in order to comprend the situation presented to them.
Every cell would attempt a way to save her.
Yes she would have already made that decision for them.
Broken through the protective barrier, the bullet would glide smooth and silent through that very important organ. Perhaps it would pass through the other side, perhaps it would not.
Nevertheless, she would lay on the floor:
silent:
onto her next life.
9-28-22
YOU ARE READING
Afternoon Thoughts
Non-Fictionメ Thoughts of a bleeding mind. Sometimes, the darkest thoughts swirl to become the most beautiful dance when woven into words. To write calms me. Perhaps someone will know these feelings.
