Fiction: Group 4
I slid off my chair to approach the man who sat frozen on the beach, staring into the horizon. Step
by step, I walked down to the waters, until I found myself only a few meters away from him. It was at this
point the man reached into his bag with his right hand and fumbled around, until his hand finally found
what it was looking for - a small black revolver.
Once he drew it out, he proceeded to play an interesting game. He pulled out the fully loaded
cartridge and picked one bullet out. I expected him to pull more out but after a minute of contemplation,
he spun the cartridge, reloaded the gun, and raised the revolver until the barrel was right next to his head. I
had seen many people do this on TV programs, but never with five bullets. People would gamble against
fate with only one bullet. Occasionally two or three if they were feeling brave. Maybe the man felt god was
on his side that night.
But for a few minutes or so, it seemed like he had lost all interest in what he was doing; he sat
there, eyes fixated on the horizon, with the loaded gun trembling right next to his head. All he had to do
was move a muscle and let the gun do the work. One small movement of his index finger would shatter the
silence of the beach. One small piece of metal. As the sun sunk inch by inch, I felt my heart beat accelerate
in unison with his heartbeat.
Soon after, the man stood up and started saying the lord’s prayer. I thought to myself how naïve
the man must be to have so much faith in his god. But as I watched the man’s face outlined against the red
horizon, I realized that something about this man was changing. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to find
comfort as he went on with his prayer, the way his hands stop frantically shaking and the way the creases on
his forehead relaxed with each word. But slowly and surely, the prayer came to an end and the man pulled
back the hammer of the revolver.
For a second, everything in the world stood still. The sun, the wind, and the sea froze, waiting for
the bullet to leave the gun. But after he pulled the trigger, there was no sound. There was no death. There
was no bullet.
The man dropped the gun from his hand. I fell onto my knees and in complete disbelief, stared at
him standing against the sun. I could feel the blood rush through my body, pulsating faster than it ever had
in my entire life. Maybe the gun had jammed. Maybe the bullet was a dud. Maybe the bullet loaded in the
chamber just didn’t want to leave. But none of it mattered anymore to me. There was no death. I watched
the man pick up his bag and begin strolling along the coast with his feet dabbling in and out of the water, as
if the past ten minutes of his life had not just occurred.
I ran down to the water to pick up the gun.
