The gun stops spinning and points to no one in particular. I look in her eyes and a question, the question of all, pops in.

“Why do you keep chasing me?” I ask her, even though I already know what the answer is.

It never changes.

She grabs the gun and spins it again.

“It’s my job.” she says. Just like I knew she would.

The gun stops spinning. Again at none of us.

“Not anymore.”

“It’s what I’m supposed, what we’re supposed to do.”

“Not unless we want to.”

“It’s not for us to choose.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It’s your turn.”

No reason on arguing any more. I put my hand on the gun. It’s colder than it was a few moments ago. I look at her and notice she’s freezing. For a while I think about comforting her, hold her in my arms and become one, but the look she gives prevents me from doing so.

“This is turning into a very serious game, you know that?”

I let it spin.

“I’m aware of that.”

Regardless of the result, I insist.

“Someone could get hurt.” I emphasize it. “Seriously hurt.”

“It’s all part of the game.”

She makes her move. The gun stops. This time it’s pointing at her. She looks at me. I stifle a breath.

“You don’t have to do it.” I tell her, praying that she won’t.

“I don’t have to”, she pauses “but I must. That’s the reason why we’re here, isn’t it?”

“We’re here to stop the game. Not to get ourselves killed.”

“Open your eyes. It’s only way to stop this. The only fair way.”

She presses the gun against her forehead. I look away and hear the trigger being pulled. And then, nothing.

“Your turn.”

I look at her, her eyes denying all kinds of access to her soul. She hands me the gun. Colder than ever. Is it me or is it her? I believe one of us is dead. But which one? Could be the both of us. Dying inside, already rotting.

It’s a dangerous game that we’re playing. A game that could end with one of us dead. The thing is, if we’re both already dead inside, who will be the lucky one once the game is over?

The winner?

Or the looser?