Here you will find role-plays set in various versions of our own world which - as a result - are generally far less complex to set up and begin playing, and require less space and description as well as no grasp of an particular fandom. That said this might also include some alternate versions of our world provided such they do not require any such explanations, and do not easily fit into any of my other categories. For example if I wanted to play an X-men game based on the films I would no doubt set it here since it really is just a contemporary setting with the addition of a single, easily understood element. Even so I am looking to retain a more down-to-earth flavour for my contemporary games, and so do not expect the thread to be full of such things.
This thread is also where you will find the period games which I have written up though - generally speaking - I do not see that historical games have much to offer which fantasy games do not however I do acknowledge their charms in some respects; an abundance of tight-lacing, for example. That sad I wish to look at a range of eras, not just the standard Victorian, or Roman setting, for example. Not to say I do not enjoy such games, or will not post them though. Note also that there is a reason why my historical and contemporary games share a thread - aside from the fact that they also both occur in our world, as in most cases my contemporary games themselves, and vice-versa with regard to my historical games are not only negotiable in the usual way all my games are, but in chronological terms as well. Thus if you see a contemporary game which you think would benefit from a historical setting I will alter it so long as the date is not inimical to the plot.
This game's setting is somewhat negotiable in that it can be modern day, or if you want to go for a more repressive era where the dynamic between the female lead and her husband may have been more common that is fine too. I realize this may work better as a one shot, and I am aware the write-up is very long, but I needed to establish the nature of the relationships and history. I know this means the female lead is fairly fleshed out already, but apart from her crippling shyness everything is negotiable, and it says very little for her personality save that she is sweet and loyal, so there is still much room for your own imaginings. I wrote this game primarily because I think this sort of extreme modesty can be very endearing if played right, and wanted to role-play a game with a training aspect that did not involve non-con or kidnapping. Nevertheless this game can certainly involve plenty of soft non-con (such as if she is simply too embarrassed to go ahead with something and he forces her into it that she might overcome it) and also, while this will have a higher ratio of erotica than most of my games it is not porn without plot. The training will not just consist of sex, and foreplay, but many different aspects of seduction and flirting in many locations. If you are confused as to how this will work PM me
Once while catching up with his parents at a five star restaurant Kurt did not think it untoward to excuse himself politely before sneaking into the bathroom to rendezvous with a pretty waitress whom he had been flirting with all evening, emerging a short while later - first naturally as she needed a while to catch her breath - with his jacket on crooked, and her panties in his trouser pocket (he is rather proud of his collection, and - like many museums - one need not pay to get of- er… inside, but donations are encouraged) before resuming his seat, looking dear old ma and pa in the eye, and smiling at both before picking up the conversation again. In other words when it comes to sex he was shameless, but also rather gifted, and these talents extended to all attendant matters (flirting, and seduction for example) but unlike many fellows similarly inclined he could also be genuinely sweet, attentive, and caring. Women tended to appreciated this about him. Lots of women. In rapid, unending succession. For an aggressively motivated, feckless, avariciously libidinous, skirt-chasing panty-bandit and serial monogamist however he was not a bad guy, and certainly never dishonest or cruel. He did not cheat for example, and he never picked up a girl knowing in advance he was going to drop her, nor would he lie. For example the waitress mentioned earlier - who had given him her number as well - did actually receive a follow up call. Nevertheless the resulting interactions lasted a mere four days, or slightly less than average in his case. His longest ever relationship lasted a whole three weeks, and involved a girl who worked for Ikea. It only lasted as long because he so enjoyed screwing her in the ball pit on nights when she was supposed to lock up he could not bring himself to end it even when he realized it was going nowhere. He has never used the three magic words in his adult life, but he has been in love, and - in all honesty - he still is. It’s the reason he behaves the way he does, cycling through women hyperactively, searching without real hope for someone who can make him feel the way she did.
Her name was Kate, and she had just started college when they met, and though she hardly seemed the type anyone would have expected him to fall for he did, and hard. Kurt honestly thought her the sweetest, prettiest, most lovely girl he had ever met. Unfortunately however Kate had always suffered terribly from social anxiety and crippling shyness. She was also quite ingenuous and exceedingly careful about her reputation. The mere thought of fooling around with someone with whom she did not feel genuine mutual affection mortified her. So despite finding him charming and handsome, and admitting something about him literally made her pulse race when he flirted with her Kate pushed him away and kept her distance. Partly this was due to his own reputation. Kurt, like Kate, could not really be with someone he did not feel for, but was also a charismatic, good looking young man with an aggressive charm that made it hard for a certain sort of woman to sit still when they were in the same room, and with so much nubile flesh on offer he could not always resist the temptation to convince himself that the tender feelings might come later, though they never did. Partly it was because she was so shy. Kurt was socially aggressive, and often suggestive in his flirtations, he said things on occasion that could still make her blush a week later when she remembered them, and she had a feeling, based on how he affected her, that if he ever really pushed he could have had her in bed, doing almost anything, no matter what she might tell herself about how cheap it would make her feel the next day. So she pushed him away. She was the first woman he had ever honestly felt he could have a future with though, and he could not just walk away, while being around her - even if they were not together - made him happy, though in a way it also hurt slightly.
She was so shy that apart from her roommate he was the first real friend she had in college, and he quickly became one of her best friends. He was good for her, and helped her a great deal with her problems in that, while patient he never accepted shyness as an excuse not to do something, and would go to almost any length to get her to go out and among people with him even if it meant he had to play chaperone the entire time. The more she came to trust him the more he was able to help. For example Kate had been singing, and playing piano since her youth - both of them were in fact majoring in music - but she could not sing on stage. Kurt nevertheless convinced her to take part in an eisteddfod by promising to come on stage with her, ostensibly to provide a musical accompaniment. He did not find the irony amusing that it was largely a result of such help that she was able to join a rather prominent choir where she met the man who eventually became her husband, falling for him while the group was on a tour.
Peter, her husband-to-be, was a quiet, rather bookish fellow and something of an introvert who struggled with shyness at times too, and so he claimed to understand her problems. He could be quite charming, and funny, and both sweet and sensitive at times as well without seeming less a man for it. A talented vocalist, in addition, and very serious about his musical career he shared, and understood her one overriding passion. Peter took things very slowly with her at first, and once they were together he did a lot to make her feel special, yet his true colours began to show as time passed, and these were far less complimentary. For example once they were married he said it would be stupid for them both to work toward a career in performance as their household would have no stable income. Partly because he was insecure about her superior talent then, and partly because he wanted to focus on his career while she saw the bills were paid he convinced her to get a teaching job. He did this quite cruelly by constantly assuring her that she would never get over her shyness and stage-fright, in the end telling her, point blank, that performing in front of potentially huge crowds was an incredibly stupid aspiration for someone who was too messed up to even have a conversation with a stranger. She was too insecure about the subject to argue, and because she loved him and wanted him to succeed she agreed, thinking when he started to make money he would do the same for her. She rather liked the work in truth, and it helped a great deal with her anxieties though she still finds teaching older students daunting. There were other, nastier things said at this time too however such as when she mentioned seeking professional help, and Peter said, simply, that if she was admitting to being that fucked in the head she could pack her bags and leave. The thought of calling his bluff, which she could not have imagined was a bluff, never even crossed her mind.
The simple fact was Kate’s shyness and anxiety made it nearly impossible for her to meet new people herself, let alone men, while it also made her difficult to approach. She always thought herself very lucky whenever a stranger was willing to talk to her even after finding out all she could do in response was chew her lower lip, mumble, fall over herself, and look away while blushing frantically whenever something nice was said, and that was only if she had no choice. Otherwise, despite that she desperately wanted to meet people, she would usually make up an excuse to run away simply to spare herself the excruciating embarrassment. Only a few men had ever become serious about pursuing her, and fewer still had been patient enough to follow through. That one of them had married her was not something she dared compromise. Further as Peter put most of his time into work they rarely did anything together and so Kate had almost no-one in her life except for him, and those few people she spoke to at work, some of whom were quite friendly, but Peter always had a reason to keep her from seeing them, some errand to be run, or odd job. If all else failed he would bluntly ask why she bothered when she knew all she was going to do was mumble at them and chew her lip.
Another reason why she put up with this, why in many ways she did not even see that she was putting up with anything, was if their marriage ended it would have been a failure on her part, or so Peter had convinced her in light of their more intimate problems, though they were hardly her fault. Simply put, Kate’s shyness left her almost hyperactively ingenuous regarding all things sexual, not that she was an innocent by any stretch, and it embarrassed her profoundly to even think of being sexually foreword in any way. She was so modest that she showered with the door locked, though she and her husband lived alone, and had never slept naked in her life. Further that Peter was in no way a dynamic lover, that his appetites were far enough south of prodigious as to require extensive stimulation, ensured that problems ensue. He simply was not able to see his wife’s needs were met, nor was he firm or supportive enough to draw her out of her shell, and instead of making the effort, or trying to help her deal with her anxieties that they might meet in the middle he simply ignored her, and told her bluntly that her insecurity made her too boring in bed to be worth touching. He never let up reminding her that she did not meet his needs in this way, and of course told her it was entirely her fault he could not meet hers, and all the while - from three months into their marriage in fact - he fucked around behind her back.
Through all this Kurt, who had become a fairly successful studio musician, had been a genuine friend to Kate, and while he still had very strong feelings for her he had always respected that she was a married woman, though it was not easy. He was the only person whose company she considered worth defying her husband for, but she never talked to him about her problems. He could tell something was wrong though, and there were clues. Once he faintly heard Peter talking to her through a phone - her reaction to being called a mumbling idiot had upset him more than anything else - and he had heard at a studio where Peter had done some work that the latter had hit on a fellow musician. It also made him wonder when at times Kate would be very interested in hearing about some of his sexual escapades. Such stories were in truth almost the sum of all sensuality in her life. She had purchased an erotic story once, but her husband had been furious about it, and told her if she was too good to touch him then she was too good for porn before demanding she throw it out and never buy another, though she had finished it in secret. All things considered it is perhaps no surprise that one night while Peter was away - ostensibly a work related trip but in truth staying at a local motel with a girl - she and Kurt, after a few drinks, woke up in one another’s arms. Both had felt very guilty, but it did not stop them from doing it again.
Kate trusted him, as someone who cared for her, and his experience enough that she let him take control of her completely, and Kurt wanted nothing less. In fact he would have accepted nothing less, and no matter how much she blushed, even if she whimpered no, in the heat of the moment he made her do exactly what he wanted, while he saw that she got everything she needed, and for the first time in years she did not feel like a failure in the slightest. She had also slept naked for the first time in her life simply because she had been too exhausted to find, and put her clothes back on, though she never did find her panties even in the morning. They both tried to avoid one another after this but it was quite impossible. Even so the affair was a guilty one on both sides as Kate was still convinced she loved, or at least could not loose Peter. She could not imagine a man like Kurt wanting her for long, and because she did not want to loose him as a friend their liaisons were strictly carnal. Through it Kurt could not bring himself to tell her how he felt, and that he had felt this way since they met, not when there was a chance it would drive her away for though he did not have everything he wanted it was better than not being able to see her, or be with her at all. Yet despite that they could only rendezvous rarely he did not so much as lay a finger on another woman, not for the full six months that they were secretly together before Peter told Kate that he was seriously considering divorcing her.
She knew he was serious and quite shaken by it. She even suspected part of the real reason: that he was doing well enough in his career her income no longer mattered. She did not know however that in addition to this he was planning to move in with a girl he had been seeing for the last eleven months. Despite what she suspected Kate was simply too sweet natured a woman to believe he wanted to leave, but that her problems made it impossible for him to stay, that if she promised more, tried hard and was willing to work on herself he might remain. So she turned to Kurt for help. He was the only person she knew who could. Some time ago he had convinced her to think about participating in an anxiety workshop, and though Peter had tried to convince her not to go she had stuck by her guns as it had been Kurt’s suggestion, and as it was coming up she told him that while Peter thought she was participating she could instead stay at his home for the two weeks. She would do anything, she told him, anything at all if he could help her to get past her shyness enough to make Peter want her. Kurt agreed because he simply could not turn down the chance of spending two weeks with her to himself, but the thought of helping her to please a man who simply does not deserve her is not a happy one. Worse still Kurt now knows for a fact that Peter is cheating on her - having spoken to none other than the girl he was with - but he does not know whether to tell her as she may think he is simply trying to drive a wedge between her and her husband for his own purposes.
Currently Closed
This is by far my most extreme game, and the title is quite apt, it is based entirely around a kidnapping and a calculated attempt to induce Stockholm syndrome. The female lead will get hurt and this cannot be avoided, but while truly horrible things will happen to her friends, family and anyone else who gets in the way she need not be mutilated, horribly injured, etc., and the torment can be more psychological. The only request I make for the female lead is that she not be a raging kink-goddess who will enjoy everything that is done to her though in time she may come to given the situation.
Some people are just dangerous. They instinctively know how to break other people into tiny pieces. Eric was like that. He enjoyed it immensely, and he worked at it as one might a more wholesome habit; five hours a day piano practise was to a normal teenager what spitting on people at bus stops to provoke them into throwing hands was to Eric. He took pride it in. He thought about it, and whenever someone annoyed him he would do something horrible. Almost anything could annoy him. He was exactly the sort most people are too intelligent to even talk to. Not to say he has never taken a beating. As both an amateur boxer and kick-boxer (though at both these sports he was quickly blacklisted and thrown out of every comp and organization he qualified for, proudly framing life-time ban notices) as well as general dick he has had the shit kicked out of him (ironically this did not leave him transparent) numerous times. There is always someone tougher, better armed or with more friends after all, but that only made him meaner. It also taught him how to gut it out. He is not a nice man. Actually it is one of those well established facts; there are government files about it. Not about the time he shattered a drunk girls jaw with a glass ashtray for throwing a drink in his face, no, not about a number of incidences like that, perhaps the only reason he was able to join the military. On the other hand there is a file about the time after that when he shot two civilians, children actually, for cheering on insurgents during an urban fire fight. He was an incredibly good soldier and this might not have been completely catastrophic, but the problem was a number of his officers who has disciplined him in the past had also inexplicably come to grief (usually as a result of explosions during confused melees) though a lack of direct witnesses to his involvement, or information beyond the vague allusions of those others involved (he was not well liked within his unit) made it hard to place blame. They threw the book at him for what they could however and he was rewarded with a long prison sentence. This of course only make him even meaner still.
Towards the end of his sentence Eric discovered that his sister (perhaps the only person in the world he was capable of being nice too, capable meaning could be though he often was not) and his twin-brother (who he was not nice to at all, but secretly liked) had been attacked. The event was national news and one of the most appalling crimes of the decade. Both were beaten to a pulp before, at gun-point, the perps made his brother swallow a number of razorblade on the provision that if he did so his sister would not be raped. They raped her anyway, all four of them, while he was forced to watch. The killers (ostensibly thought home-invaders) then forced a three foot PVC pipe down her throat and slid a number of fireworks down it, one-at-a-time. Luckily, or unluckily, as the case may be, she was not killed, but suffering severe internal bruising, ruptured organs and shocking internal burns was then dragged into the garage to watch as the perps shattered her brothers arms and legs with a barbell. Following this they slowly crushed his head in a tooling vice albeit only partly before he fell from the work-bench before they took turns tossing weights at him from across the garage to see who could finish him off by smashing in his misshapen head first. They did not realize Eric’s sister was still alive when they left although it took her over two hours to crawl back inside and reach a phone.
Such was the reaction and public sympathy that Eric, despite his record, was allowed out of prison - albeit heavily escorted and only briefly - on an arranged visit to see his sister in hospital. This sympathy was directed primarily at her in that she had absolutely no chance of survival and he was her only close relation still living. He got to see her for one hour though she was not conscious; he cried for the first time in his adult life. She was kept alive for thirteen days in all, but spent the entire time unconscious. Eric was back in jail when he heard that she had died, and - pending this - when an inmate whom he considered a friend jokingly asked if he was going to cry, it did look that way after all, Eric beat him unconscious before sawing off his eyelids and lips with a razorblade. He did this despite having only a month left on his sentence and they tacked on five years more as a result.
Eric had a good idea who was responsible for the murder, indeed, the very reason he had joined the military in the first place: a girl both he and his brother had fallen for, but who had only been interested in his brother. She was the daughter of a rather ruthless gangster and his recalled brother had written to him once about how angry she had been over his request that she help him find some underworld connections in order to make money. A while later, years on, after their sister was diagnosed with cancer he wrote Eric again this time about being worried to, but resolved about contacting her again despite that they had broken up some time ago to make the same request in order to assist with medical bills. Soon after this the attack occurred. For this reason Eric maintained that he was glad of the added five years saying it would take about that much time for him to think up, in precise detail, exactly what he was going do to the people responsible.
Five years later, or rather five years and three days later Kris - the gangster’s daughter - was at a very exclusive night-spot where a badly dressed maniac started dragging her off the dance-floor. She had no recollection of who he was or why he might want to hurt her, but guessed he was connected in some way with her father. At any rate she was not, at first, especially frightened after all daddy never let bad things happen to princess, and there were some rather large and unfriendly fellows who followed her about at a discreet distance to make certain of it. Were it not for the crowd they probably would have shot him, but instead they approached. He noted them and turned to Kris, smiling before, while still holding her he rather casually cut the first mans throat with a knife she did not even see him draw. In a flash the second slumped with it between his ribs. She wondered if he planned it that way. If he moved at the club for that very reason, knowing they would not open fire in public, but had no time to muse further.
Kris was dragged outside, right over the top of two bouncers, and hand-cuffed securely to the inside of a car. Before taking off the stranger explained - without telling her why - that they were going to visit her friends. All of them, one-by-one, and every single living member of her family. Then he would deal with her. As for why he said he would explain on the way.
There were two people inside, and a child - a baby really - the three of them sitting within the living room. A middle-aged woman on a couch watching day-time television with no real interest, an elderly woman wheezing away on an easy-chair using an oxygen machine, and a child sleeping peacefully. All three started, and the child began to cry when an explosive bang was heard outside following by another more resounding bang which echoed down the hall. It was the sound of their front door being kicked in, and it was followed by heavy footfalls. A man appeared in the doorway holding a large revolver just as the mother came to her feet in surprise, his thumb curled around its cocked hammer.
‘Sit,’ he said while training the barrel on her as she came to stand half-way and he paced into the centre of the room.
He calmly took a seat in a wood-framed chair, and looked once at each of the three.
‘Where is your son?’ he asked the younger of the two women as she glanced anxiously at her crying child.
‘I don’t know,’ she responded.
As though in response to the mounting tension the child cried more loudly, but when the mother instinctively made toward it she was motioned once more to sit as the intruder drew out a packet of cigarettes with his free hand.
‘She has emphysema,’ the younger woman motioned to her mother even as he held a cigarette in his mouth and brought a lighter up to it.
Taking a drag of his now lit smoke the intruder glanced between them, nodded and then shot the elderly woman once in the right side of her chest. She flinched within the chair as if she had been punched and a red stain became visible on her chest even as the piercing crack of the massive .454 sounded deafeningly within the confines of the room and the younger woman all but leapt out of her chair in shock.
‘It won’t bother her now,’ the intruder stated.
Seeing what had occurred the younger woman was distraught, her features shot with torment, and despite her fear stumbled in a panic over gone to her own mother, and fussed over her while she died seeing at first the incongruously small entry wound in her chest. Thinking it perhaps survivable until she realized that trailing down her back and drenching the cushions of the chair was a disturbing volume of blood and the already unconscious woman now seemed eerily still so that coming off her, realizing her mother was dead the woman looked over at her killer.
‘Where is your son?’ he asked before she could comment herself.
‘I don’t know!’ she screamed through protesting sobs.
He stood up and started to walk calmly over to the day-crib that held the now screaming infant. Seeing this the mother forgot her fear and rushed over to beat and drag at him heedless of the firearm in his hand, and straining to avert his course until he turned and smashed in the bridge of her nose with the grip of his pistol. She fell, benumbed by shock and blinking as blood dripped from her face down onto the carpet. Looking up as he lifted her child by one leg and left the room she followed, stumbling, partly crawling in blind terror and following him into their kitchen. She screamed wordlessly, in absolute terrified disbelief when he opened the microwave and placed the now-shrieking child inside. He did not turn it on, but stood watching her.
‘Don’t kill him,’ she sobbed over and over again, and ‘I don’t know where he is,’ while he stared down impassively.
‘This will not kill him-’ she shrieked, protesting, as he turned the timer up to one-hour though he did not as yet engage the switch that would turn on it on, ‘not all at once-’ he placed the wattage on its lowest setting, ‘there will be time,’
Turning it on he did not even hear the sound of it operating over the mothers indignant howls as she threw herself as him once more, and was once more thrown to the floor. The shrieking of the child was deafening as well, but joined now by a more quiet blubbering murmur as the mother keeled over against a cupboard and pressed her hand and face into it while babbling in shock to her slowly cooking infant about how bad a mother she was.
‘Where is your son?’ he asked again and seeing she appeared to have switched off he fired a round into the cupboard not six inches from her head which made her start violently, ‘your son?’
‘Turn it off, I‘ll tell you-!’ he did so. ‘He’s hiding-’ she sobbed, ‘hiding in the back room,’
‘Thank you,’ the man responded.
He did not leave immediately however, not before he shot her once in each kneecap, and - stepping on her chest to flatten her on her back - once in each elbow, turned the microwave on once more, and left the room while dragging her out with him as she screeched and tried to claw her way back toward her cooking child while humming gently to himself over the sound of screams before he let her go. In the living room he saw her son standing, trembling over his dead grand-mother. He was armed.
‘What the fuck did they do to you?’ he asked.
‘This is not really about you at all,’ the intruder responded before he swiftly darted foreword to grab the young man’s wrist even as he brought up his automatic, stopping him, while he discharged a round into his foot.
Twisting his arm around behind his back the intruder then physically threw him through a glass coffee table where the young man rolled onto his back, bleeding from many cuts where the jagged ends of the broken glass had caught him passing through. He groaned and reached around for his gun, but it had been kicked away from where it had fallen from his grasp.
‘Get up,’ the intruder ordered.
‘You shot me-’ he held his foot. ‘I can’t,’
The revolver went off loudly once more and blew a hole in his other foot.
‘Walk to the door and I’ll let you go,’ he went on.
Looking up from where he bled onto the carpet the young man was prepared to believe this though he could read nothing in the man’s impassive features. Thinking only that he did not deserve to die, and that he had suffered enough when his entire family had been killed, he tried to stand up and force himself to walk. After several attempts he began to crawl after pushing himself up onto his knees, grunting through his clenched teeth. The pain of putting any pressure on his feet caused him to exhale sharply in an agonized hiss, but he held it, and he trembled visibly from the effort as he slowly, unsteadily began to crawl, groping along from chair to wall to shelf like a blind man feeling his way, grunting and straining past each step until finally he collapsed outside of the doorway.
’I did it,’ he gasped while hauling in shallow breaths as the intruder stepped outside after him.
‘You did, good job. It saved me dragging you this far,’ as he said this the killer took his ankle and dragged him ungently over to where he had reverse-parked in their own driveway.
He begged to be let go, but silence rebuked him utterly and he was inexorably hauled over and chained to the vehicles tow bar before his assailant walked to the drivers side of the vehicle, and circled around to the front where he opened the door and sat down. Inside a pretty young girl was handcuffed in the passenger seat.
‘Wind down the window,’ he said to her.
‘Where did you find him? Were they all there-’ she tried to peer back and see what had been done behind the vehicle, but the angle cut off her field of view, ‘-Grandma, and-’
‘They’re not there now in the sense you mean. I said open the window.’ he cut her off.
Though a certain pride thread her face which resented anyone should see her cry the young girl started to sob, and her entire upper body was wracked with heaving distress as she cried although no tears came, her chest heaving in anguished silence as she broke down in absolute terror.
‘Why?’ she asked after some time, and by this she meant why he was killing her family, but since he thought that obvious he assumed she could only be asking why he wished the window down.
‘I want you to hear him scream,’ he came back as he put his foot down.
He never went past thirty and it was a full half-hour before the screams stopped and they went on driving for a full five or so minutes until she had finally stopped sobbing and someone spoke.
‘I feel like ice-cream,’ he said. ‘Do you like ice-cream?’
‘Go to hell,’ she said icily.
‘We‘re in hell,’ he responded evenly. ‘Even so I’m stopping for ice-cream, but first,’ he slowed the car, and pulled over at a soft shoulder where at gunpoint the made the girl exit the car and see, and she added to the mess the contents of her stomach when she saw how what was left chained to the tow bar resembled her brother now about as much as a steak resembles a cow, and she unlocked the cuffs and left them by the body, but it was no longer a body at all. She could not believe it and thought it more horrible than death; she wished he was dead, but he was not unless in death one still breathed.
‘Kill him please,’ she begged in a softly pleading voice. ‘Jesus Christ-’ reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder desperately she closed her eyes, and looked away after he brushed her off. ‘-He shouldn’t be alive!’
‘It‘s not fun is it?’ he touched her cheek.
‘Please shoot him,’ she put her hand on the back of his as the horrible man-shaped thing gurgled at them both.
‘You want him dead, you shoot him; see what its like,’ he seemed to say this to himself, speaking in a low voice barely above a whisper, and while speaking he removed a revolver from a hip holster and extracted the rounds letting them tinkle onto the floor while with his thumb he held one in and his other hand caught hers, and he held the back of it. ‘Show me,’ he closed the breech on the revolver and pressed it into her palm.
As she knelt there he moved her hands to train it on her brother’s chest. With tears silently running down her face two, three, and one, chasing one another over he cheeks and leaving gleaming trails as they fell from her eyelashes one after the other on and on while her hand tensed slowly until the hammer clicked. She flinched wildly at the violent crack of the big .454 going off, and when he took it from her she softly stroked her now dead brother’s ragged cheek.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whimpered.
