Gunpoint

I drop my cigarette, which had been dancing on my bottom lip for a relentless ten minutes, and put it out with the sole of my boot. The remaining smoke that was held in my lungs, seeps from my lips, and I pull out my keys to dangle from my fingers.

I make my way down the couple of steps leading up to my Old Gotham district townhouse, and head for my vehicle down the street. Old Gotham District replicates a much more victorian feel. There are many thick, burly oaks, and many of the buildings have vines creeping up their exteriors. Most of the houses, townhouses, and buildings were built brick by brick, and have intricate exterior detailing.

My footsteps are the only thing I can hear, as I make way towards my drive.

My black Dodge neon... it doesn’t look the same it looked yesterday.

I jog the next couple of feet, and slow to a stop, taking careful steps forwards, a definite crunching sound beneath my boots.
It’s beaten up; battered. The windshield has a clouding crack, and the passenger windows are all broken, the glass shards spreading across the sidewalk.

This was probably the first time I realized that no matter where you are in Gotham, there’s always going to be some kind of crime, night and day. Even if it’s small, there will always be something.

I look around, expecting somebody to be watching me, maybe having been waiting for me, but I see nobody; feel no-one watching me. The evening sun has already made its way down to the horizon, hidden from view, yet still bringing some kind of light.

There is an overbearing silence now, and I turn to face the mess of my vehicle yet again.

It’s a couple of minutes that I stand, staring dumbly, before I pull out a cigarette from my purse, and light it impatiently before swinging it up to my mouth to inhale deeply.

I wasn’t much of a smoker, only smoking a couple of times a month... It definitely was a bad habit, and I understood all of the precautions, read all the warnings, but I let it pass as an excuse this time.

My baby was damaged anyways.

I took another chance to examine the damage done, taking in all the dents in the doors, and on the shiny black body itself. It seemed to me, this could’ve been planned. I drew out a puff of smoke, and let it just for a moment just suffocate me. It was only for a split moment in time, but to me, it was more than enough.

Quickly, being annoyed of the distinct smell, I dropped the half used cigarette to the ground, and crunched it beneath the tip of my boot, crushing bits of glass as well.
The blunt taste of nicotine on my tongue is dissatisfying, and I pull out a strip of peppermint gum from my pocket to relieve my taste buds. It does wonders...

A distant set of footsteps momentarily makes me stiff. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle upwards. It was also the feeling in my stomach that made me know something was a little off. I slowly tuck a strand of my brown hair behind my ear, and turn my head slightly, keeping it cocked lowly. It’s a very subtle motion, and helps me to see a rather big mass of bulk crossing the street, and making way towards the direction of where I stood.

The first initial idea in my head is to run. To literally book the hell out of there, but then again, it could all be paranoia, something that can lead to thinking the total opposite.
That idea seemed quite doubtful.

I pick out the car key from the set of four, and quickly walk around to unlock the slightly dented door. The window on this side hasn;t been touched. The glass is still yet as smooth as it always was.

The feeling in my stomach grows more-so punjent as the squeal of rust that has built up in the doors hinges croaks loudly. It’s a knot twisting feeling in my gut, and when two oversized hands roughly grab at my shoulders, heaving me sideways onto the pavement, the feeling just numbs, as if there is no more to squeeze.

I realize I hadn’t even screamed, my mouth only parting slightly. It happened all too fast.
I shut my eyes tightly, and reopen them. They’re watery now, salt tears stinging at my eyes, threatening to spill. These aren’t tears of sadness, but rather, tears from impact.

His breath is heavy, and it’s all I can seem to hear now. He smells distastefully of alcohol, and cigars that is so overpowering, I feel lightheaded.

My eyes tilt upwards to his overbearing stance, his hand; his fingers, spread across the body of the car as he leans over me. I must have hit my head or something, for my vision’s all fuzzy, and making out his features is nearly impossible. It’s even harder with the lighting being so terrible.
There is a dull throbbing on the back of my head, but strangely I hadn’t remembered hitting it.

Maybe a bit, but not really. It must have been the shock taking the idea away.

He then leans away from the car, stepping slightly sideways, and pulls something from his coat. I notice he does it hastily, as if nervous his time is short.

A steelplated gun is suddenly cocked down at me.

I suck in a heap of air, as if holding onto as much life as I could possibly bear.

Gunpoint.

It’s an obnoxious view of the pistol chamber, yet I know my life is being played into unwanted hands.

Sweat surprises me as it tickles the surface of my skin. It drips from my temple and lands onto my exposed collar bone, running down inbetween my breasts, and dissapears into the dark.

Yet, darkness hadn’t yet succumbed me, and I still lay, perched awkwardly on my elbows, and frozen in stone cold fear.

My mouth slightly gapes open, and my eyes are wide with surprise, waiting for the moment that I’d die.

The moment that death came to mind, I thought of my parents, living perfectly peaceful lives on the outskirts of the city, probably enjoying eachothers company at a late night candlelit dinner, or watching a movie like they usually did on Friday nights. I pictured there innocent faces, picturing my life in the city, thinking of me in this given moment.

Their image of my life was greatly distorted. Maybe it was for the best, so they wouldn't always have to worry.

A moving shadow comes out of the sky, landing soundlessly behind the thug. He stalks up from behind, moving without a single sound across the pavement.

My eyes don’t give anything away, they were focused solely on the seemingly endless chamber to where a single bullet sat. Lone.

The man who’s life plays in his hand knows nothing of what is too come for him.

I shut my eyes tight now, and wait patiently.

I wait for death, like a welcome hug.

A loud shot, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.