Time Runs Out

Time Runs Out

My pulse thumps, my body feels alive. I watch him, standing with his back to me, in the rain. If this was a movie, it would be our final showdown. But this isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster, and I don’t believe that I will ever be a hero. It’s hard to hear what he’s saying through the rain. His shoulders sag.



“This is not what I wanted.” He says, turning around. His face is visibly ashen, and my heart hurts for him. He isn’t a villain, he doesn’t deserve this.



“I know.” I sigh, my body still.



He laughs, “No, you don’t. And you’re not a hero, stop pretending you are.” I know that too.



It’s silent for a few seconds.



He speaks up again. “Get this over with; we both know why you came.” His words are sharp and break my reluctant stance.



I lift the gun. I aim. I hold my breath.



This is the end. This can’t be the end.



I speak, but my words tremble, “I – I have to do this. You know that, right?”



“Just do it.”



I suck in a breath, “No, no! I have to hear you say it. Please, say you know.” I need to hear his words.



His eyes hold amusement, but it’s bitter. How can I blame him? We never should have ended up here. The rain still serves as a reminder – not everything is okay. My grip is still firm but I can’t help but think, he is just the lightning in this storm of a mess. He was seen, but nobody ever heard him. It’s not his fault, but what’s done is done; and he has to deal with the consequences. He has to.



He laughs cruelly, rightfully, “Why? So you can sleep at night? My death means more than a couple restless nights.”



“You’re a monster.” My voice shakes as I try and convince him. Or myself.



His face contracts, and then falls, again. “This is not what I wanted.” He’s said that already.



“I know.” I repeat. But this is the only way.



My arm is weighing down with every second, and the rain is now pouring. Now is not the time for hesitation. I skim my gaze over my watch. 11:58pm. It’s almost time.



He shakes his head, and pleads. His eyes beg for me to understand. “Listen to me.”



He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that’s all I’ve ever done, listen to him. He just hasn’t noticed.



11:59pm.



I pause. “Say something. Don’t let that be your last words.”



He stares at me. He lifts his hands, salutes. He speaks,



“I forgive you.”



12:00pm.



I pull the trigger, and I stagger back as if I was shot. My heart is heavy, this is how it ends. For him. I let my tears fall, and pour out the single emotion I held from him, regret. This wasn’t the only way. I could’ve told him, I should’ve told him, I didn’t tell him. I drop the cold object in my hands onto the ground and cry. Everything should’ve been different, but it wasn't. I can’t stop thinking. I should have told him. I should have told him. I should’ve told him.



I know. He was right, he was telling the truth, but no one can know.



I drag myself from the ground and wipe sweat from my forehead. Ignoring the pain, I walk up to the fallen body. His body. I do something I will never forgive myself for. But he did, he forgave me. He must have known this was going to happen. I wipe the gun and throw it next to him. Suicide. That’s the conclusion the police reports will come to. He knew this would happen too, I wasn’t dealing with an amateur. He knew what would happen. This was just damage control.



“Happy New Year, Brother.”  I say.



I left, and I never noticed that it was no longer raining. But that was just a coincidence.