Countdown

I told you to talk but you wouldn't. It's alright. I'm not a talker either.

I got six shots in my revolver. They talk. They Talk loud.

Bang.

I got five shots in my revolver. One in the bed.

You shout and try to get up. You ask me if I'm insane. You're talking now. But not the words I want to hear.

Bang.

I got four shots in my revolver. One in the bed. One in your leg.

You scream and curse. You spit and promise to fucking kill me. I tell you not to make promises you can't keep.

Bang.

I got three shots in my revolver. One in the bed. One... no, two, in your leg.

You're talking to God. It's funny. He's way up there. I'm right here. Talk to me instead.

Bang.

I got two shots in my revolver. One in the bed. A fresh one in your shoulder. Two in your leg.

You open your mouth. Words and blood. Mostly blood. Interesting stuff. But not enough.

Bang.

I got one shot in my revolver. One in the bed. One in each shoulder. Two in your in your leg.

I promise to let you go. You give me a name. I say thank you. I untie you. I walk through the door.

Oh, one last thing before I go.

Bang.

I got no shots in my revolver. One in the bed. Four in your body. And one in your head.