He sat there, his hands weren't even trembling, as he fed the one bullet into the chamber. With a practiced twist of his wrist the barrell closed into place.

He hated it....he loathed it. And he was tired of it. "It" being life, "it" being ever nuance that had filled his own existence with misery.

So...on a whim, a game of chance, he would end it all. Finish it, and let it all fade to black.

No one would care, in the end, really.

He closed his eyes, and with his thumb he flicked the chamber, causing it to spin, the chamber holding the one bullet sliding by the barrell...slowing...slowing...until he stopped it with his finger.

He invisioned that he had guessed right, had picked the correct one, and that within moments it would all fade to nothing.

"Click..." nothing. Empty. He glares at the gun, traitor. Both he and it had suffered through so much together, both had killed so many as one...was it also not tired of the existance?

The barrell wirred once more, and once again he pointed it to his head. "Click"...again he was forced to live for another instant.

He could smell the sickly sweet smell of the other body across the room. He did this so calmly, with another death so close to him, in fact his boots were beginning to stain from their blood.

He did this everytime he killed, it was a game he played, to see if he deserved to live. But this time he was going to keep playing it....until someone other than him won.

"Whirrr...click....whirrr...click....whirr...click." the sounds began to form a sort of song, one which he was getting tired of, especially the chorus. Same song and dance.

Hopefully a new song would play soon...."Click"...damn his luck!

Vincent flung the gun away, and it slid over the earth, missing the puddle of blood, only to be stopped by the foot of someone that was standing there. For how long, or how short, he didn't know.

"You know....that isn't good for your brain." the lady whispered softlu, bending down to retrieve the gun, holding it carefully by the handle, like someone who had never held a gun before.

Vincent merely shrugged his shoulders, trying not to stare at her, and instead he gazed at the corpse, hoping she would think him morbid and leave him alone.

No such luck..."May I ask you a question?" again the woman spoke, moving a little closer to him.

"Sure. That does not mean I will answer it, though." He cants his head back, gazing at her silently, solemnly.

"Why do you do it?"

"Because I can." He watches her examine the gun, and spin the chamber idly. She lifts the barrell up and holds it to her own temple.

"Whirrrrrrrrrr...." she stopped it with her finger like he hand, and gazed at him, looking as calm as he must have when he played the game.

"Shall I give it a try?" she whispers softly, and though she looked calm, her voice shook horribly with fear. She closed her eyes, and slowly began to tighten her finger....

Cli....she felt the gun jerk away...."BANG"...she had shot the bullet he had meant for himself. Her eyes flew open, to find Vincent standing so close to her, so close that they were nearly touching.

They were both breathing swiftly, from adrenalin and exertion. He slid the gun from her hand, and gazed at her silently, solemnly. He slowly bent his head, frightened, and his dry lips pressed against her moist ones.

It was a brief kiss, a kiss meant to acertain that both parties involved were still alive, that it was no dream...or perhaps that the dream continued. Vincent drew back, and gazed at her.

"Heaven....is not yet ready." he whispers softly to her, and departs, leaving her to stand there, gazing after him.