I looked back up at the gun. She had distanced herself from me and had closed her left eye, lining me up in the gun sights with the right. It was the end, I knew it. So this is what the end of a life looks like. Better than the orange noose waiting for me. It was a strange thought, yet very clean and concise. I knew she meant to kill me, I could see it in the subtle features of her small face. A dizzying rush came over me. It was a combination of this realization, alcohol, blood loss, pain, fear, adrenaline, and finally anger. My vision flashed red as I began to shout.

"Do it. Do it! Dooooo iiitttt!!!... Do it you fuckin' bitch, you crazy psycho bitch, kill meee!!! Yeah, that's it. Stand back so you don't get any blood on you. Come on! Come onnn!!" I screamed as I crawled towards the black muzzle.

"Pull the trigger. Go on, pull it. I fucking dare you." I spat the words at her.

"I'll probably just come back again anyway," I said running out of breath. "I'll probably just come back again anyway." I trailed off quietly over and over until I began to cry.

I wept uncontrollably like a child not knowing or caring if or when the release might come. I looked up after several minutes. She was still there, only now the gun shook in her trembling hand and tears ran down from the corners of her eyes. I fought unsuccessfully to stop crying and collapsed again face down on the floor. I heard her uncock the revolver and felt her hand on my shoulder.

She laid the gun on the floor and took my right hand in hers. She placed her hand palm down in mine exposing a postage stamp sized black tattoo on the back of her hand between the thumb and forefinger. The tattoo captured my attention and refocused my senses. Its shape was striking and looked like three joined peaks, two above one larger one, or two crossed Egyptian flails like so:

She turned my hand over and ran the fingers of her left hand over the blank web of skin on the back of my hand where her tattoo had been. She looked into my eyes and searched for-- something in them. She broke her concentration and spoke. "I'm going to call an ambulance. It'll be okay, you're not injured badly."

"No, please don't," I said, lifting my head. "Please stop," I pleaded as she started to walk away. "You were right about the police shooting me. If I go to a hospital tonight, I go to jail. I can have a friend pick me up. Please help me, just let me use your phone," I said, smearing blood under my nose as I wiped it.