Bathing in Blood

A metallic click broke the silence of the damp, dark basement. It was shortly followed by the murmur of the large crowd, which was filling the room, making it suffocating in its silent suspense; a murmur of both joy, and disappointment; of both delight, and apprehension. I knew I could open my eyes, for I wasn’t on the cold ground of the floor, I wasn’t progressively losing control over my body, and I wasn’t hopelessly laying in my own blood, for I wasn’t dead.
I opened my eyes only to see the terrified silhouette of a tall, skinny man, which was standing right in front of me, trembling. The revolver was still in his shaking hand, and pointed at my head. I knew what thought was rapidly infecting his mind… What if he pulls the trigger again? What if...? But it was pointless. I knew that; he knew that; every single one of the disgusting low-lives in the crowd knew that. He was as good as dead, and the fact that I might be too was simply… irrelevant.
He dropped the gun, and while he was steadily lowering his lanky body, kneeling, he was erasing the drops of cold sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his dirty, white sweater. He was still trembling in fear, and despair, looking at the wet ground, and whispering for himself a short prayer, with the 44 caliber revolver patiently waiting near his knees.
I couldn’t move. I was frozen in that damp, dark basement, staring at the man hopelessly praying in front of me; staring at that blood-stained ground; at the blood-thirsty men surrounding me. They began shouting at me, the men. I couldn’t figure out what they were screaming at first, as my senses were retarded by the ghostly image in front of me, but the shouts were growing louder, and louder, and the noise unbearable. “Kill him!”, they were screaming. I still couldn’t move.
A man from the crowd decided to “help” me finish the job, so he angrily grabbed the revolver, and forcibly put it in my hand, somehow pushing me in the same time. He slapped me twice, then approached my ear repeating, “Kill that bastard!”. I was trembling, as I slowly directed my gun towards the man’s head.
I didn’t even know his name. He was throbbing violently. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger, as a cold tear rushed across my cheek. Drops of dark-red blood splattered all over my face, as a powerful gun shot silenced the horribly disgusting men and the lifeless body hit the ground, laying in its own blood. I… I didn’t even know his name; his name!
I let the weapon slip from my hand, while I was gawping at the man, whose life I’d just ended before the expiration date. I felt sick. I turned around, and paced through the crowd to the exit of that stinky basement. You could smell the blood, and death in the air. I got my money from a fat rat, who was smiling at me in contempt. I felt sick.
I ran as soon as the door was opened for me. The cold was hitting me in the bloody face, while the frizzing snow was cutting my shins. But I ran… I ran towards the wilderness of the woods, until I couldn’t see that basement anymore. I ran until I was exhausted, until my legs felt no more, and my eyes were in tears because of the cold, and pain. I fell in the snow, shaking… terrified, cold, lonely, tired. I couldn’t take my mind off that man’s face, and prayers, and trembling body. I didn’t even know his name. I wanted to be in somebody’s arms… I was disgusted by myself. I fell asleep in the snow, wishing for someone to hold me, wishing for Rachel to hold me.

Oh, Rachel… my dearest Rachel. She was the most beautiful thing in the world, she was… she was my everything. Rachel whose eyes were so deeply blue, and her appallingly black hair so soft, and her red lips so comfortably warm. I lived for her and my immortal love is the sole reason for which I was still alive. She was the only thing I’ve got, and the best thing I could ever wish for.
It was me who offered us this despiteful life in Russia, and the war which kept us from leaving it. It seemed as such a great idea to paint the Russian panoramas of frigid snow, solitude nature… painless loneliness. The only thing that seemed as a good idea then is that repulsing game of blood, and death, and fear. I didn’t even know that poor man’s name!
I only wished I could go home… to my dearest Rachel. Broken… that’s how I felt in that very moment, while hopelessly laying in the snow, my head throbbing of guilt, my body wishing for rest. I somehow managed to pull it off the freezing snow, and drag it toward my grey home, in that grey city with grey houses, and buildings, in which we were living a grey life.
A sketch of a shy smile left my face as waves of heat hit my body powerfully enough to cut the strength in my knees, and let it collapse to the ground. I woke up in my bed… alone, and confused. The echo of my voice calling for Rachel was rapidly filling the air with dreadful pressure, as no answer was coming back. And then it did. A voice sprinkled with the beauty of a thousand angels traveled through the air, only to strike my undeserving ears. A voice of…
…Numbness attacked my senses, as my fists grabbed the blanket in fear, keeping me from breathing, and a wave of convulsions raced across my spine, for it was a voice of plain terror. Ear-hurting silence came next. I thoughtlessly bewildered paced across the house, rendering motionless at the sight of my love. Quivering helplessly I kneeled in front of the image of dread put forward by the white-walled, empty room. The twilight’s blaze was penetrating the window, throwing a strip of light over Rachel’s right part of the face, as she sit on a strangely built wooden chair in the middle of the room. Tiny river channels were showing on the girl’s velvet chicks. Tears were filling my eyes.
A gun shot broke the silence of the white-walled room, as pain flowed through my veins, and drops of warm blood burned my face.
Words of bitterness bathed in venom were next roared in disgust, “His name was Victor!”
Hopelessly closed my eye, that’s what I managed to do.