One More Shot- A Collection of One Shots

Gunshot

I flattened myself to the wall, breathing heavily. I could hear the incessant banging outside, the crack of the fired weapons. It was a sound I had become accustomed too, so much that I was nearly comforted by the hidden rhythm of the booms; yet my fear of the very sound grew each time I heard it. A clatter of shouts arose through the thunder, effectively forcing my feet into motion.

I gripped the blade of steel in my hand. The metal gave off a silver sheen in the moonlight, a kind of deadly beauty glinting beneath the surface. I wondered whether I would finally be brave enough to answer its call for blood; whether or not I had the money to buy it the pretty scarlet dress it always wanted.

The ground shook beneath my feet. The booming bass of violence coursed through the ground, causing tremors worse than that of what people call "real" music; the kind that plays at "wild" parties. They don't realize that there is nothing more real than the dust that is shaken loose from the ceiling above my head, or the melody that caused it. The melody that was so beautiful it was painful; the melody that had sent many a man drifting into an eternal sleep.

I flew around a corner, where a man was waiting. He seemed startled when he saw me, and he held up his right hand, gripping the plastic tightly. I saw the small circle point at my head, calling out for me to join it in its blackness. A finger rested on the trigger, ready to strike, the knife was faster than the gun. Within an instant, the blade found its way into his soul, laughing as it crushed the heart in its silver hands. I saw it was wearing the new dress.

I smiled.

The dress was scarlet, just like I remembered it. The fabric covered the silver skin, trailing down all the way to the floor. It left a stain everywhere it went, making sure that its mark was not forgotten. I studied the masterpiece in its entirety, raising my finger to the hem of the dress. The fabric was smooth and cool to touch, and hung loosely on the porcelain body. It relished the touch of my skin; a piece of the fabric from the dress mixing with a drop of liquid from my hand.

I left the soul to rot and continued on my journey. The dress dripped beauty with my every step, adding a picture to the otherwise perfect melody.

Another heart fell to the cold, glistening hands. The careful metallic fingers collected evermore fabric to add to its dress, leaving more and more marks as it went. It killed in time to the music above, dancing to the beat with graceful, elegant movements.

The marks it left painted a picture. The picture only needed one color; add any more and its beauty would be ruined. As it painted, it sewed; adding to its dress with every movement. Eventually, the dress reached perfection. Nothing more could be added, or changed; it would only ruin the product. I held up the scarlet surface to my face, gazing intently at the unchallenged blade. The dress stared back at me, smiling.

It pointed behind me, telling me to turn around. As I did so, I saw the barrel of the gun. I waited for it to add to the song, and it did not disappoint. It rang in at full volume, launching the shrapnel from its mouth. I felt the bullet hit my chest, and I began to fall backwards. I didn't need to look down to see that I had my own scarlet dress, constantly growing in size. Finally, I was perfect. My own silver hands would bear the dress in pride, dancing in their death.

I let myself fall into the violent, perfect melody.