By: Antwan Crump


There were six bullets in the chamber, only five were blanks. He told her, and she didn’t believe him. The drugs had worn off. He drank the rest of the vodka to steady his trembling hands. She goaded him into pulling the trigger. It was supposed to be a game. Russian Roulette seemed pretty fun.

He first worried if anyone would come searching in that ghetto alley. His next, was why no one had. As the rains beat against her corpse, the blood mixed with it and puddled around his unlaced shoes. He didn’t have much time before he’d need to make a decision. There was too much evidence of the murder and nowhere to escape.

He knew of one place where still no one would go looking. He laid beside her in the rain, with his head on her chest, and curled up tight to quell the coming shivers. He drifted to sleep beside her -humming, Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. It was her favorite song.



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