BADLANDS

colors

there's a faint noise, something that's almost indistinguishable from the rush of wind. it took her a while to realize what it was-

peter was crying.

"take the shot," she hears his strained voice, barely above a whisper. he's telling himself shakily, "fucking do it already."

she squeezes her eyes shut tighter, feels the bitter water between her eyelids. she senses his ebbing heat hanging over her back.

the reality of what's happening strips away her fear, her thoughts of betrayal. he's ending it for her.

"kill me then," she chokes out messily through gritted teeth, letting her blurry eyes open. "i don't fucking care," the only thing she can see is the hard, slanted ground.

she hears her dark pistol soundly click into place, hears a strangled sob, hears the wind whistle past.

she feels nothing.

"what are you fucking waiting for?" she screams, she screams with everything she has left. feels the last remnants of hope seep out her veins. the heat of his hands against her back, pinning her against the ground sharply.

his hands are trembling.

the silence stretches on forever, an eternity of nothingness, of her trembling and feeling the gun embedded into her skull.

what does dying mean, anyway? she's already insane, ripped apart at the edges. ashley doesn't blame him for this. after all she's done.

her crying is involuntary, a human reaction to hanging onto life. inside, she feels hollow. the world is bursting into vivid colors, dripping with the light and energy as it leaves her body.

she feels a warm hand brush lightly over her bare cheek, a fleeting embrace.

he traces his fingers over the trigger.

he takes the shot.

x

-

he was red.

the darkest shade of red, blinding the visions of sight and sound. anger and denial masking hope, heat pulsing so intensely it's almost icy cold. jealousy. pain. love. lips wine stained red, bloodstains dripping on the floor.

the lightest shade of red. bordering into a rosy pink, a flickering glow of light over the edges of the sky. the mountains with their pink caps, his lips on her neck.

she was blue. the strobing, pulsing, flickering ultraviolet blue light. the mellow and hollowness. the disorientating sky. loss, emptiness, strength. the city lights burning aquamarine. the waves in the swimming pool.

he touched her, and she was a lilac sky. swirling colors mixed, a mess of heat and need and loss and hope. left her dripping violet and suddenly, purple just wasn't for him.

is this what heaven felt like? if it was, heaven must feel like nothingness. heaven must be her face pressed against the ground, a gun still held against her head.

because she wasn't dead.

-

was this a sick paradox? a never ending stretch of life that wouldn't end even after a bullet traveling straight through her brain? everything was black, until she discovered she could open her eyes. she discovered she could see his face still, and he was screaming and sobbing, contorted into a mask of horror. she was so dizzy she could hardly see.

"how?" she whispers through half closed lips, tears gluing them shut.

"i'm the insane one, i'm fucking sick," his voice is hoarse. "this place drove me to insanity and i just hated you for it, i hated you so fucking much for the idea i was dying and the gun.. the gun isn't even fucking loaded."