Trigger Warning
Clicliclick.
The metallic sound vibrated through the reticent air of the chapel. It bounced off the walls, off the flickering candles, off the altar.
cliclicliclick.
The sound bounced off of Winston Smith, who sat in the third row of honey colored pews from the front, directly in the middle of the church. The sound, fragil and mousish as it may be, seemed to consume him and override his thoughts. He ran a hand through his gray dappled hair and turned his head to the singular collage of color and bright shone. The stained glass glowed in the morning light, like a star in the night. It was one of the only sources of light in the church; not even the priest showed up on Tuesdays. No light, no people, only Winston and the song of the revolver.
An angel looked down from the window, covered in white robes and feathered wings. The being looked down at a man, hands extened, as if she was ready to take him up to heaven with her. Winston spun the revolver again and let it sound, closing his eyes to drown in the silence.
"If you commit suicide here, it will cease to be a holy place," Turn, and Winston had the gun to the strangers forehead. The muzzle shook against her freckles and his eyes met hers, blue against his gray. Her eyes were glassy and rippled, a texture Winston had never seen in eyes before. Wide and bright, yet transparent and weak, like... like...
Winston gazed at the window again, then to the woman.
Like glass.
The gun fell to his lap and Tovia turned to face the window, admiring the work of art.
"You're an angel, aren't you?" the man gawked, his old voice rattling, "You're here to help me, aren't you? Here to save me?" He was growing desperate sounding. He clasped the woman's white dress, waiting for her to face him again.
There was a pause before Tovia answered the man. "I am an angel," she chimed, face void of emotion. "But I am not here to save you. I was simply in the area. I am not here to affect your death, but to simply ask you move the act onto a non holy site, like your own home." Her hair ruffled, as if tossed by a breeze. "I prefer to keep my Father's homes pure."
The elder let out a choked sound, unsure of how to reply. They sat in silence for a moment, the emptiness of the church enveloping them.
"Doesn't God care? Don't you care?" his voice cracked, "Doesn't my life matter?"
"I'm not affected by any death. Neither is God, really. Life is life, death is death. Some people were meant to cheat and lie and smoke, and some people are meant to die. To become martyrs. To-"
"I'm meant to die."
"I never-"
"You think I should-"
"That is not what I was saying at all."
"I mean nothing."
"Neither did anyone else, really."
There was a hush as the object raised to Winston's face for a final time. Right up to his soft temple, just to make sure he wouldn't miss. "Please, do not." Tovia begged. She never turned to face him, but she could sense his smile.
"Some peple were meant to die, you said," Winston stated, pressing his finger against the trigger. He took in a deep breath and stared at the woman before him a final time. "What beautiful wings you have,"
And, with that, Winston Smith was gone and Tovia was left with only a corpse and the sticky, hot blood splattered against her face.
Clicliclick.
The metallic sound vibrated through the reticent air of the chapel. It bounced off the walls, off the flickering candles, off the altar.
cliclicliclick.
The sound bounced off of Winston Smith, who sat in the third row of honey colored pews from the front, directly in the middle of the church. The sound, fragil and mousish as it may be, seemed to consume him and override his thoughts. He ran a hand through his gray dappled hair and turned his head to the singular collage of color and bright shone. The stained glass glowed in the morning light, like a star in the night. It was one of the only sources of light in the church; not even the priest showed up on Tuesdays. No light, no people, only Winston and the song of the revolver.
An angel looked down from the window, covered in white robes and feathered wings. The being looked down at a man, hands extened, as if she was ready to take him up to heaven with her. Winston spun the revolver again and let it sound, closing his eyes to drown in the silence.
"If you commit suicide here, it will cease to be a holy place," Turn, and Winston had the gun to the strangers forehead. The muzzle shook against her freckles and his eyes met hers, blue against his gray. Her eyes were glassy and rippled, a texture Winston had never seen in eyes before. Wide and bright, yet transparent and weak, like... like...
Winston gazed at the window again, then to the woman.
Like glass.
The gun fell to his lap and Tovia turned to face the window, admiring the work of art.
"You're an angel, aren't you?" the man gawked, his old voice rattling, "You're here to help me, aren't you? Here to save me?" He was growing desperate sounding. He clasped the woman's white dress, waiting for her to face him again.
There was a pause before Tovia answered the man. "I am an angel," she chimed, face void of emotion. "But I am not here to save you. I was simply in the area. I am not here to affect your death, but to simply ask you move the act onto a non holy site, like your own home." Her hair ruffled, as if tossed by a breeze. "I prefer to keep my Father's homes pure."
The elder let out a choked sound, unsure of how to reply. They sat in silence for a moment, the emptiness of the church enveloping them.
"Doesn't God care? Don't you care?" his voice cracked, "Doesn't my life matter?"
"I'm not affected by any death. Neither is God, really. Life is life, death is death. Some people were meant to cheat and lie and smoke, and some people are meant to die. To become martyrs. To-"
"I'm meant to die."
"I never-"
"You think I should-"
"That is not what I was saying at all."
"I mean nothing."
"Neither did anyone else, really."
There was a hush as the object raised to Winston's face for a final time. Right up to his soft temple, just to make sure he wouldn't miss. "Please, do not." Tovia begged. She never turned to face him, but she could sense his smile.
"Some peple were meant to die, you said," Winston stated, pressing his finger against the trigger. He took in a deep breath and stared at the woman before him a final time. "What beautiful wings you have,"
And, with that, Winston Smith was gone and Tovia was left with only a corpse and the sticky, hot blood splattered against her face.
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