Russian Roulette

There comes a time in life that every game has to come to an end. No matter how much you don’t want it to. That’s just the way life goes. Like that Robert Frost poem, Nothing Gold Can Stay. I guess that’s just the way the world works, though; every child has to grow into a teenager, every teenager, into an adult, and eventually, the life cycle leads to the ground. For some, this comes sooner than others. But like I said, it’s like the poem.

That poem was always one of my favorites; I read it every night before bed. It reinforced into my brain that nothing is permanent, everything changes. Whether good or bad. Don’t like the way your life is going right now? That’s fine; wait an hour, it’ll change.

I run my finger over the dry, brittle pages of the old book of poems in my lap, the words almost jumping out at me.



My attachment to the poem came about because my grandmother used to recite it to me every night before bed. My family had been relatively poor as I grew up, and after my father left, my mother could no longer afford to raise me on her own, so we moved in with her parents.

I don’t remember much of my father, just that he was a tall, broad man, with a booming laugh that could put a smile on anyone’s face. My mother never told me why he left, and I never asked. The question always seemed to spark too much grief.

“Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold,” I murmur, curling up on my side next to my boyfriend. I lay my head down on his bare stomach, my eyes glued to the page as I hold the small book up in front of me. I could recite this poem with a moments notice, but I always like to have it in front of me when I do. Don’t ask me why, because I really don’t know. The recitation of it has gone from a nightly ritual with my grandmother, to one with him, and I smile as he runs his fingers through my long, dark hair.

“Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so an hour,” he murmurs, a faint smile present in the tone of his voice. I rub my hand up and down his bare thigh, savoring the touch of his bare skin beneath my fingers.

“Then leaf subsides to leaf, so Eden sank to grief,” I whisper, placing a tender kiss onto the skin covering his stomach.

His fingers continue running through my hair as I close my eyes, laying the book to the side. As he finishes the poem, he gently lifts me up, pulling my body on top of his and stroking my cheek. I peel my eyes back open and stare down into his bright, chocolate eyes as he murmurs, “So dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay.”

“I love you,” I whisper, my lips hovering just above his.

A crooked grin etches itself onto his face as he nuzzles his nose against mine, “I love you, too.”

But I don’t know if I really do love him. It’s more of a companionship than anything. Yes, I care for him, and I love being around him, but as for being in love with him? I’m not sure.

We met two years ago, during a game, actually. He was a friend of a friend, and our paths just happened to cross in the living room of this so called friend. We hit it off immediately, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. It’s one of those things that you would call fate.

The game we were playing? Roulette. The Russian kind.

We’d never told each other our reasons for playing the game, but there must be something behind it if you’re willing to take that risk. That first day we met, there had been six people present. We sat in a circle on the dirty carpet of the living room floor, just like we did every Saturday night, with a six chamber revolver, loaded with a single bullet. When your turn rolled around, you had to spin the chamber, place the muzzle against the forehead of the person sitting to your right, and pull the trigger.

He had been sitting to my right.

For the first time in the six months or so that I’d been playing the game, I’d actually winced when I had to pull the trigger. He’d caught my eye the second he walked through the door, and I immediately saw how beautiful he was. It was hard to miss, honestly. What with his messy black hair that frames his face, hanging down almost to his shoulders, his bangs partially hiding his deep, chocolate colored eyes. Eyes that held so much emotion and depth that it made you wonder who he really was, deep inside. His pale skin shone in the weak lighting of the room, the tattoos adorning his arms and snaking up over his neck and chest seeming so vibrant that they actually popped out of his skin.

I made the mistake of letting my eyes meet his just as I was about to pull the trigger. As he looked up at me, he placed his hand on mine to steady the trembling, but at the last moment, I jerked the gun away and fired it at the wall. If I hadn’t, I would’ve killed him that night. I was banned from the game after that, they said I didn’t have what it takes. Which isn’t exactly true, I felt like I just had to know this man sitting before me before I allowed myself to take such a risk of snuffing his life out.

I guess I should have figured it out then that this would eventually lead to tragedy.

But sometimes you’re blind to the things around you, even if they’re clear as day.

He softly kisses my lips then lifts my body off of his and places me down onto the bed beside him. He grabs the book of poems and sets it onto the nightstand next to the bed, then stands and crosses the room to the dresser.

He pulls open the top drawer, the one holding our underwear, and grabs a pistol from the back. He pops open the chamber and checks to make sure the single bullet is still in place, then closes the chamber and gives it a quick spin. It’s been there for the two years since I first met him. After I was banned from the circle, he decided to no longer attend. We’d taken to playing the game on our own, every night before bed.

As he crosses the room to me, he hitches up his boxer briefs from where they slide down his hips. He really is beautiful. He lowers himself back down beside me and places the gun between us, turning those eyes that I love so much onto me.

“Do you want to go first tonight?” he asks, reaching over and tucking a loose clump of hair behind my ear.

“Yeah,” I nod, picking the gun up into my hand. It seems to weigh a ton, more so than usual. A feeling of foreboding fills the air, but this night is just like any other. One of us could die, but we don’t take into account just how real that risk is. “It’s my turn.”

He nods, smiling softly down at me as the backs of his tattooed fingers stroke my cheek. I sigh shakily as I return his smile, then lean up and crash my lips to his.

His arm wraps around my waist, pulling my body close to his as we kiss. Passion fills the air around us and his tongue slips between my lips. A quiet, throaty moan echoes from my throat as I press my tongue against his. But that’s as far as we take it. We save the passion for after we both survive our lethal game.

We break apart, our chests rising and falling with our heavy breaths and I back away from him just enough to fully extend my arm, placing the muzzle directly between his eyes.

“I really do love you, you know,” he says, reaching out and taking hold of my free hand. He laces our fingers together, pressing our palms flush against each other’s as our eyes lock.

I smile, “I really do love you, too, Ronnie.”

As I put pressure on the trigger, I finally realize that my words are true. I do love him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. With the realization comes the sense of knowing that we don’t have to resort to this type of game anymore, we can be together and just be happy. I think that’s what he was waiting for all along.

He grips my hand tightly in his, so tight that I hear my bones crack. He doesn’t really want this; he’s doing it for me. I try to stop myself, but it seems as if my finger has a mind of it’s own and I pull the trigger.

A sound like thunder fills the room and the light leaves his brown eyes. Slowly, his body slumps backwards down onto the bed.

That’s all he is now; a body. He’s no longer the boy I love.

I stare in shock down at him, my entire body trembling violently as blood slowly seeps from the hole in his forehead. My eyes burn and I vigorously shake my head.

“N-no,” I whimper, dropping the gun onto the sheets that are now sprayed with a fine mist of his blood. I scramble up the bed to him, placing my hands on his shoulders and roughly shaking him. “N-no! Ronnie! Ronnie, w-wake up!”

Sobs wrack my form when he doesn’t respond and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, lifting his limp body into my arms and burying my face in his neck. I rock back and forth, tears pouring from my eyes at an alarming rate.

How could this have happened? How could I have realized just how much he means to me, two seconds too late? I shouldn’t have been so blind.

I sit there, cradling him to me for what seems like an eternity, but in reality is no more than five minutes. Eventually, the tears stop flowing, but the sobs never stop. Reluctantly, I pull back and place him gently back down onto the mattress, his head on the pillow. His hair fans out around his head and I lean down, softly kissing his full lips.

Reaching over with a shaky hand, I pull open the top drawer of the nightstand. We kept a spare bullet in here for something such as this. The sound of police sirens comes in through the open window with the fall breeze; someone heard the gunshot. I know it was just a matter of time until they did, but I wish it hadn’t been tonight. I don’t have the time I wish I had to say goodbye.

I load the spare bullet into the chamber with shaky hands and set it so that the next chamber to fire is the one I need. Carefully, I straddle his slender hips and place one hand on his chest while the other holds the gun. Leaning down, I press a soft, loving kiss onto his lips for the last time, whispering against them, “I l-love you… I’m so, s-so sorry.”

Flashing red and blue lights filter into the room from outside as several cop cars screech to a stop in the street. Their yelling voices assault my ears as their car doors slam, the slapping of their boots echoing off the concrete.

I sit up, lifting the gun to my temple. My eyes rake over his face and I marvel once again at his beauty; even in death he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I raise the hand not holding the gun and stroke my fingers down his cheek, whispering, “N-nothing gold c-can stay.”

The police pound on the door, yelling at me to open up, but their request goes unheeded. As I stare down at the face of my dead lover, my hand finally stops shaking.

I pull the trigger, my body slumping down on top of his; everything goes black.