LITMIR.BIZ

      Once again, I’m staring at my own death.

      My heart is pounding. My breath is coming in short spurts. And I can’t stop digging my fingernails into the heels of my palms, just so I can feel the little crescents of pain they create. Of course, those tiny bursts of pain can hardly match the throbbing in my dislocated shoulder. Not that any of that will matter in a few minutes, when I’m truly dead.

      Dead. I can hardly comprehend the word, since it’s held so many definitions for me. After all, I’ve done this before: readied myself for the final moment. Sometimes it’s happened, and sometimes I’ve defied it. But tonight, I won’t defy it. Tonight, I’ll die.

      Tonight, I want to.

      For the first time in my strange existence, I want death. I need it, in order to do what has to be done.

      Not to say that I’m not afraid; I am. Terrified, actually. But that doesn’t stop me from staring down the barrel of the gun pointed directly at me. I can’t figure out why it hasn’t fired yet. Then I notice how badly the gun is shaking. If it fires right now, I doubt the bullet will even graze my shoulder. Which obviously won’t be good enough.

      Slowly, my eyes move from the gun to the person holding it.

      “You okay?” I ask her.

      She doesn’t respond for a moment. Then, with a bitter laugh, she asks, “Are you kidding me, Amelia?”

      I just smile.

      Behind her, I can hear him shouting. Screaming, actually. I know that his friends are holding him back, gripping tightly to his arms as he struggles to break free and stop us. But my eyelids are so heavy, my tears so thick, I can’t actually see him.

      It’s probably a good thing I won’t be able to look into his eyes when it happens.

      I turn my attention

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