The gun felt hot, electric to the touch, and try as I might, in my unsteady hand, its quivering nozzle waved unsurely back and forth. But, at this distance, I still couldn’t miss. He was tied to the chair, and his eyes were daggers. They stabbed at me in that dark room, accusing, threatening.
My teeth were chattering, and the building rage inside me left no room for words.
I forced myself to speak, “Wh-wha-why?” I finally settled on.
He gave me no answer, his thin lips pressed together in defiant silence.
I hadn’t realized I was crying. I heard the sound of a tear hit the floorboards. Its little, dark splatter was nearly invisible.
“All this time,” I spat, “and you knew? Were one of them? You’ve played me from the beginning.”
“No,” he interrupted.
“No?” I said, pressing the gun against his head.
“You played yourself. You convinced yourself what we were. You’re the outlier here. You’re playing with some lofty notion of truth. There is no truth; never has been. We’re peacekeepers, and if that means keeping the lies, we keep them. That’s the game.”
“Game!” I shouted.
“This world is a game and you’re playing it. It’s a game of power. The strong take. The winners win. The losers lose.”
“Then lose,” I say, hardly hearing myself as the gun fires in my hand.
Tale Told 