The Cold Bullet

The biting wind whips around me, scratching into the little exposed patches of bare skin remaining. My face. My hands. My legs.

I squint down at the waves that thrash hungrily at the beaten rocks below me as I lean over the cold metal railing. Salty drops of water fly up from the wild sea, making my face tingle. The constantly howling wind tastes like salt, stinging my lips and eyes as it rockets in from the south. I stare out at the frothing harbour and the little boats that are sprinkled around it. They rock up and down, up and down over the waves.

Feeling sorry for the terrified souls that brave this wild sea, I turn around, walking away from the edge. The wind drags my hair instantly around so that it tickles and slices at my half-numb face. I sit down on the hypo-thermic brick wall. The wall is only about three feet high and my feet brush the grey concrete below. Wild lavender and other plants I do not know mingle with the overpowering smell of salt and bitter cold. Long snaking leaves of Lomandra plants break free of the cluster, slicing into my arms. I place my bare hands on either side of me, letting the final desperate touches of warmth be sucked away by the icy red bricks.

I squint out to the south to see a ferry, which totters on the waves in a perilous attempt to cross between North and South head. I can sense the trees above me swaying violently, crashing into each other as the wind tirelessly harasses them. Occasionally I hear the zip of a fishing line being cast out from the platform diagonally down to the left of me. There are few fishermen and fewer families here when the weather is like this, it surprises me there are any at all. I close my eyes and let the cold bitter world soak in. Then I hear them.

Over the howling wind and shuddering trees, I hear them. Suddenly, like a thrilling plot twist. Click, click, click, click. Footsteps. My eyes snap open and I notice how looming and rough the scenery looks now. Fear rushes over me in a cold, drenching wave and my breath becomes shallow and quick. My mind flashes almost immediately to sirens of emergency services. I had decided to shove that memory out of my mind long ago. Though like all memories, good and bad, it shoves its way into my mind.

'"A murder." The bald, grim looking police man told us. The rest blurred away. "Murderers not caught." I feel faint, "In the park over there." I glance over to the long, sagging body bag being loaded into the ambulance. The sorrowful faces and the shaking heads of the people that gather in the street. All I can think of is the cold hands of the dead person lying there. I gulp and take a deep breath. All I can see when I have my eyes open is the saltwater, mingling with blood, dripping from the body bag. When I close my eyes, I see the cold hands and sunken eyes of the figure I imagine the victim to be. '

I shudder. I tell myself that was years ago, but my heart is still racing. The footsteps are louder now, and all the calming in the world can't stop me from jumping from the wall and looking around. Terrified yet overcome by adrenaline, I spot a tree shrouded in dark green leaves and rush towards it. My mind is a tornado of emotions, never staying on a single thought except one core primal instinct 'run'. Tears threaten to flood from my eyes in weak rivers. I know I'm being irrational. I know I'm being stupid. But I can't help it. The footsteps are coming from behind me. I sprint faster than I have ever before, but it still feels as though I'm going slower than a slug. I scramble up the leafy tree until I'm at a frightful height. I clutch onto the thin diameter of the branch as if my life depends on it. I'm silently sobbing and my body is shaking violently when the people turn the corner. A lady and a man in their mid-thirties. The lady has white shoulder-length hair. She's wearing a dark green top and black jeans. The man has long black hair and is wearing a black puffer jacket with dark brown jeans. I can't help feeling terrified beyond imagination. They are both just staring straight forward as they walk. It's unnerving. I think they don't see me. I almost let out a sigh of relief. Then she looks up at me. She smiles sweetly. Creepily. My heart is racing and I'm frozen. Her eyes are cold and empty. A void. For a moment I think she's looking through me, into the tree. For a moment.

She pulls her arm up, it stays straight the whole time. Her smile never faulters. The man has a smug smirk on his face. Slowly my eyes turn to the lady's hand, more specifically, what she's holding. A small silver revolver, glinting dully and slightly grey. Fear grabs at my heart and urges me to move, to run, to do anything at all. But I can't. I'm paralysed. A cruel, smooth calm voice in my head whispers at me 'Accept your death. It's over.'. Then I hear it, and accept it. The loud bang and the flying bullet. The moment of immense pain followed by darkness. So I accept it.

It's over. I'm gone.