Russian Roulette

I nervously glance around the dark room.  The thick red walls seem to loom over me, taunting me with unheard voices as the revolver is placed on the small round table in front of me.

Smoke from the large man opposite of me‘s pipe fills the air, stinging my eyes and making it hard to breath.

I gently sway back in forth in my chair, glancing around the room at the faces of the men gathered there.  We are five in the room, all crowed around the small table with the gun. 

The first man, a large Russian with a thick blond beard and a heavy mustache that hangs past his chin takes the gun in his boar like hand. 



“For Queen and Country.” He mumbles his accent as thick as the smoke swirling in the air.



With only a seconds hesitation he points the gun at his head, I stare intently as he squeezes the trigger.



“Bang!”



My body shakes violently as the man’s lifeblood lashes out, decorating the already red walls as he sinks to the floor.

I rub my hands against my jeans in a vain attempt to dry my sweating palms, but it’s no use.

The second man, who, just like me can’t be much older than his teens, takes the gun next, opening it and putting in a single bullet before closing it again.

His hands shake as he places it next to his head.  He hesitates, I can’t breath.

Finally after what felt like an eternity he pulls the trigger.



“Bang!”



My body jolts again and I open my eyes, who involuntary shut themselves.

With a sigh I realize he is still alive, with a nervous smile he moves to gun towards the girl sitting next to him.

She is a blond Barbie wearing a tight blue dress and like the man next to me is smoking heavily.

Without even blinking she pulls the gun to her head before pulling the trigger.



“Bang!”



My heart skips a beat and she laughs, she too has escaped this deadly game alive.

The man next to me takes a deep breath of his pipe before throwing it on the floor and taking up the gun instead.



“So let it be.” He growls in a heavy British accent placing the gun against his forehead. 

I stare at him intently as he pulls the trigger.



“Bang!”



I swallow a gasp as I am sprayed with thick blood, their warmth doing little to help the icy fear gripping my heart.



“You’re turn.” The woman says pushing the bloody gun towards me.



I try to swallow, but my tongue has become sandpaper and my hands shake violently.

Finally I manage to pick up the gun.

Slowly I open it.  I take the copper bullet before, after a number of attempts placing it in the revolver. 

I spin it once before closing it.

Firmly I place the gun on my right temple; I give another dry swallow as the blond girl nods supportively.

My hand takes hold of the trigger and I feel my finger moving to squeeze it.



“I can’t.” I whisper, tears rolling unchecked over my cheeks.



“It will be okay.” She whispers, smiling. 



I stare at her sadistic smile for a second longer before pulling the trigger.





“Bang!”





Gravity pulls me down as my body goes limp, my blood sprayed on the wall behind me.  I can’t breath I cant move, all I can do is lei there staring as the blond Russian slowly get’s to his feet again, coughing a few times until the small copper bullet drops out of him.  The bold woman walks over to me, gently caressing my face as my body starts to violently shake until I manage to cough.  I am lifted into a sitting position as the bullet works its way down to my mouth.



“That was disgusting.” I finally whisper, glancing down at the bloody copper bullet in the palm of my hand.



“Ja, next time, we use silver bullets.” The British guy replies, as he picks up his pipe.

I laugh enjoying the feeling of strength returning to my limbs after the awful numbness of death.