G A M B I T

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Whispered words echo in my head, from the bottom of the heart that I once had. Don't you think that I heard you screaming? Don't you think that I know it was my name you called?

Why do you ask for the things I can't give? Why do you plead for me to save you when I'm the one who proverbially pulled the trigger? Why, for the love of God, why do you cry out to me, even from the grave?

This feeling isn't guilt, I know that for a fact. Guilt is an emotion that I've felt far too many times. So what is it that you make me feel? Why is it that the words mean more when they match with your face?

And, again, why? You have no money, no fame to make my name known. I gave you that. I was utterly convinced that you were nothing, not a part of me. That I could detatch myself. You were not an emotion that could be killed by a knife.

You etched the words 'remember me' into my brain, and I see them like neon lights every time I shut my eyes. Do you know how hard it is to sleep when the inside of your eye lids can give Times Square a run for its money?

I don't know why I insist on asking you questions, or talking to you, for that matter. You're gone, a casualty of my plan. The plan, ironically, which you are ruining.

However, I can't help but think to myself, I just can't. Did you realize, in your last moments, that you had been used? That, after so long, your attempts had done nothing?

I'm almost sure you did, as you died by the hands of that 'good friend of mine'. He was reluctant to do it, too.

So, why on earth did you call for me? Was it to tell me that you hate me, and that I was never worth the time? Or to tell me that you forgave me, and you understood. Oh, how I pray that it was not the latter.

And if you could talk to me, tell me if it's so, that all the good girls go to heaven.

Will you end up in heaven? I don't know. You were a saint compared to me, but what do I really know about you? Nothing is the answer to that question, and it doesn't phase me at all. I didn't have to know you. You were ready to believe anything I said.

But I hope you make it to heaven, because you can wait there forever, and I won't join you.

How could I be so cruel, you ask? Because you meant near nothing to me. People in general mean nothing to me anymore. The way I see it, many have died before me, many will continue to die, and people will still be dying once I'm taken care of. I make attempts on lives, and I make attempts on assumptions, but I leave facts alone.

You were a pawn, and you never became a queen. You moved one way your entire life, right until the end, your movements controlled by someone bigger. I was the hand that controlled you, and I lead you right into a trade. Luckily, the trade worked out in my favor. A pawn for a king. Check mate. And I won't lie; it was worth it.

It's hard to change a thought that was pushed so deeply into your brain. That is the reason I did this. That is the reason why I feel the pistol on my temple now. That is the reason why I will remember you. Always.

Rest in peace, knowing that I cannot haunt you from hell. But I have one more question, meant for myself, perhaps, more than you.

Who pulled the trigger?

He pulled it, of course. You'll say that too, because you saw him. I told him not to say sorry. Him.

Who pulled the trigger?

He pulled it, physically, with his pointer finger. I know it. I can imagine it clearly. He's shaking, probably. He's not one for murder, but that's okay. He's just a knight. Oh, so valiant, but a cold blooded killer, nonetheless.

Who pulled the trigger?

You do know that, right? He is the one that pulled the trigger. I've never actually pulled a trigger that resulted in a murder. Never actually spilled some one else's blood.

Who pulled the trigger?

He pulled the trigger. Not me. And yet, I'm the murderer. We both know it. I'll make up for it, though. Tonight, I will pull the trigger.

I hope it makes you feel better. Yes, you were bait. Yes, you were a casualty. No, I never actually meant what I said. Yes, you were a pawn.

But you were my favorite.

I'm really not with you anymore. I'm just a ghost. So I can't hurt you anymore.

A ghost. The king. The victor. But the win is a let down, for I have no more pawns. I have but one knight. My castle feels haunted. The bishops know what I've done. And the horses stare me down.

Who pulled the trigger?

You did, my dear. You pulled the trigger. And I love you for it. I hope you see me as the angels lull you off to sleep.

Remember me.

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A/N: This is a combination of about three ideas I had, that wouldn't stand alone. Thanks a ton to my beta, Liv, who rocks insanely. And thanks to Lindy for the opinions Luff you both.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Mr. Colfer does. The lyrics in italics are from the song This is How I Disappear, by My Chemical Romance. I recommend it. Great song.