Sunflowers (adding as I go along)

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         Everything shone bright and sunny in the one bedroom apartment, and for a moment's glance even the pistol seemed to smile in a gleaming silence. But as her hand reached for it, and touched the cold handle of what seemed like an alien life form, the brightness throughout the room seemed to evaporate. That cold, so surreal, seamed to suck every inch of warmth and comfort from her soul, and yet in some way kept the hysteria at bay. She became suddenly aware of how dry her lips were, and how sunken her eyes felt in a skull that didn't seem to belong to her.
         The side of black barrel read "Glock 19... Austria", and for the few years she had owned it, she never cared to really look at it. Never cared to touch the damned thing, until now. And in some way, it wasn't her that was holding it, reading it. She felt like a puppet, some ventriloquist's little toy, her arms attached to her thin puppet strings, and her head filled with cheap wood.
         If anything would stain the floor, it would be wood pilings.
         She laughed, and set the gun on her lap.
         How did it come to this?
         Running her finger over the barrel gently, she stared away into the void outside of her window. The finger on her seemingly detached hand placed itself on the trigger, and the realization how natural it felt engulfed her in terror. She screamed, eyes wide but not seeing, lifted the pistol to the side of her head, and pulled the trigger.
         The noise was worse than the immediate pain, and as she slipped from reality, a voice played in her mind. Her voice, a child's happy chatter, "I'm gonna be

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a star when I grow up. A SUPER star!"