My mom was angry, furious at me and in spite, I picked up the handgun, pointed it at my stomach upside down, and pulled.
No recoil no heat, just pain. A very bad cramp, seeping blood that doesn’t drip. I felt the bullet within my stomach, pulling my centre of gravity towards it so my soul and mind and fear were buried in its middle.
M made his appearance again, offering to send me to the hospital. I get in the cab with him, the bullet now lodged deep like an unborn child, haunting my future. We switched cars, why? But the next driver was a policeman and I was scared to mentioned I shot myself with a gun, yet he waved it off with embarrassment, as though mentioning my use of a gun to hurt myself was shameful to talk about.
I lean on M’s shoulder, seeking comfort and love, and he leans his head upon mine. Home. Peace. Huge wrench of pain and doubled over.
Back to a house, everyone there. My mother was angry and not sympathetic.