My hands shook. Oh, how I hated it. Seeing the weakness affect me the way it did. Allowing her to see it. Pressing the gun harder under her jaw, I whispered, my lips brushing velvety smooth against her waxy cheek,"I should kill you."

The tears; they fell freely then. I could feel the sobs wracking her body against my chest. Could hear the muffled cries for God in my ear. Too bad I knew better than anyone, God doesn't answer the prayers of the unrighteous. Hysterical laughter bubbles into my throat escaping my mouth before I could pull it back. Or maybe I didn't try to. 

"You think God will answer your prayers?" I ask patronizingly, "You think God is listening? Let me tell you a little something about God-" I lean in closer to whisper into her ear, like a secret,"- He doesn't listen for people like you and me." 

She started crying even harder- if possible.  It was sickening. Pathetic. Reminding me of a conversation I had, once. Would you die on your knees, or would you die standing to your feet? I always thought that I would be the one dying standing to my feet, rather than dying too cowardly to stand at all. But looking at the situation now, I wasn't so sure. Like a lot of things, you wouldn't truly know, until you were in that situation. 

The epiphany loosens my grip on the woman, and she slides to the dirty cement floor. Useless. That's all she has ever been. Always in the way.  Ruining everything. Even in a time in need, she was unreliable at best. Always so unreliable. My eyes close against the memories- the pain- before I can shake it off.

"Marissa, please," she begs, her dirty hands reaching out for me, hands skidding across the concrete, "Please.. Please don't do this."

 I can feel myself splitting into two different people. My conscience dividing into two different beings. I want to drop the gun. Fall to my knees and cry, and a sick part of me would want her to pull me into her lap and hold me. But I don't. And she doesn't. My will doesn't waver. I wish I was her little girl again. I wish she would die. The voices begin to talk. Murmuring. Do it. Do it. No. Don't it. Yes, imagine the happiness. You know its all over if you follow through with this. 

My mind was in inner turmoil, as I raised the gun and finally pulled the trigger. 

The End

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