This was written, also originally by me on reddit at /r/writing prompts, the promt was to write about russian roullette from the perspective of the bullet.
Have you ever killed someone?
They say it is the worst thing one can do,
that even an accidental murder can drive you into the darkest depths of yourself.
My head was still spinning, not roused from my dizziness by the harsh stops in between the cycles of rotation.
It seemed endless, as did the vocal vibrations violating the tightly packed air pocket surrounding me,
debating when I would be granted my freedom, be forced onto the tracks of my purpose.
I feared I would lie in the cylindrical abyss for all eternity, only my fate was far worse. I saw the light.
Not a second after the so-called salvation of the bright, brilliant new world filled my vision,
and my old one was filled with fire.
Flames, fighting their way toward me, cloaking my small body,
propelling me toward my inevitable fate.
My journey through the purgatory of the human world was the only relief I would ever have,
the one comfort I could be allowed before my destiny was sealed,
cemented into the head of an innocent man,
one who thought to play a game not truly understanding the consequences of loosing.
There was nothing I could do,
though that doesn't change the meaning of the mark that is my now dented, dulled and blood stained body.
I am a murderer, born and raised and this I will be till the end of my days.