he waved that goddamned gun around

pointing it at me

threatening to shoot me in the head

i remembered chekov in my head

there are no unnecessary elements to a story

if there are they need excised

so i told him to just pull the fucking trigger if he was so inclined

what difference did it make

would this be my first dance with that skeletal bastard on the white horse

did he think i would shrink away from him just because he had a gun and all i had was my wits and a tongue like a katana

shoot me you limp prick bastard and get it out of the way

do us both a favor

he screamed and his eyes bulged as his cheeks turned purple

it probably wasn’t funny but i began laughing like a loon

doubled over slapping my knee at his inchoate actions

all the while that hunk of metal was bobbing and weaving and following my every move

i saw his knuckles turning white as he gripped and knew it only took about five pounds of pressure to pull the trigger

and gauging by his face he was well past that mark

i was crying from the laughter as sweat poured down his face

if it’s loaded do the deed you sack of shit i goaded him between sucking breaths and chortling cackles

you’re nuts he said finally calming down

a lunatic

he set the gun on the table between us and poured a stiff drink for both of us

i wiped my face and thanked him for the drink and noticed my hands were shaking as i drained it in one gulp

i almost did it he said sipping his and staring at me in disbelief

almost blew the top of your bald head off

yeah right i said picking up the gun and pointing it at the ceiling

like it’s even fucking loaded

i squeezed the trigger and the shot echoed in the room and made my ears ring

i set the gun back on the table and poured another for each of us as the laughter took over again

chekov was right again

the cheeky russian playwright