She was born a free spirit. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved me and I loved her.
Her name was Maria . . . her soul was . . . her soul told my soul that I was worthy of her love.
She touched me . . .
She loved me . . .
Then she was taken from me.
It was a still morning. The sun was beneath the horizon. I awoke because of the sound. The scream. The horror.
Without thinking, I ran to where I thought the screams originated. But dreams can fool you.
I was alone. And she was dead.
It doesn’t matter. We all die. We are all born with a death sentence.
Her body lay before me.
Her eyes looked into mine.
But she saw naught.
She . . .
She was my love and she was dead.
And the man that killed her was my brother.
Now he must die.
I loved her.
But as I looked at her broken body . . .
I knew that was not her . . .
Her essence . . . had fled to another part of the universe
I retrieved my gun and went in search of my brother.
He was where I knew him to be.
I raised the gun and stuck the barrel into his ear.
His brains sprayed out
His blood formed a red mist.
He was gone.
But his death did not bring my Maria back.
Now I will join her.
The gun barrel
It is in my mouth
I pull the hammer back
My hand is on the trigger.
My mind is on Maria
My finger squeezes the trigger.