Colour-blind is still ongoing, I've just taken a year out of writing. I wrote this a couple of nights ago, it's short and may not make much sense but I wanted to leave it open.

This isn't true.

The room smells of death already. You're both still alive but the four walls of the dingy bed-sit have already prepared themselves for the inevitable. The early morning sun filters through the closed drapes, casting dark shadows across the room. It's like something out of a horror movie, you see dark shadows moving from the corner of your eye.

Where he got the gun from, you're not sure. Maybe Chester, that guy knew some dodgy people. You don't think about it for long, as you're suddenly aware that he's pointing the gun dead between your eyes.

He's always had such a good aim.

It's dark but light enough to look into his eyes; they shine with something other than tears. Vengeance or maybe insanity. Either way you try not to think about it too hard, as you're not sure which is worse.

In a few moments your head will explode, painting the walls in a bloody mess, bits of bone, blood and brains will splatter the room and for one twisted second you feel sorry for the person who will clean it up. Will they wonder why you were killed? Perhaps they'll sympathise for your family? Or will it just be another day for them? Maybe they've become cynical over time, the bodies they find are just wasted life, an example of what life could really be like.

You're digressing and the gun pressed to your head pushes harder, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"I'm gonna kill you." The words are definite but the voice that speaks them doesn't sound so sure and you allow yourself a glimmer of hope. You want to pray to God but that would be pointless considering you've hardly lived a godly life and whilst you are many awful things, you're not a hypocrite.

"I'm gonna pull the fucking trigger." He's talking to himself now as if he's not even aware that you're there. You should turn around, if you were quick enough you could easily have him pinned against the wall, but you don’t. Maybe because you know that you deserve to have your life on the line. You deserve to have a gun cocked against your head and he probably deserves to be the one to pull the trigger.

You've never been much of a philosopher but you think it's pretty funny that he loves you so much that he's going to blow your fucking brains out. If that's not love, what is? You laugh aloud at this, it’s not that funny but you can't help that your shoulders start to shake manically and your bladder and stomach ache with tense pressure.

He jumps at your sudden movement.

You stop.

He was always so easily scared.

"Dammit Brad." Suddenly you're aware that the tables have turned and even though you're the one with a gun pointed at your head, you've managed to gain the control.

"This is just another case of love hate gone wrong, Mike." You state. Your voice is monotonous but it booms and echoes around the stale room. It makes Mike shake even more.

You're suddenly aware that you're not going to die tonight. You have the upper hand and life hasn't flashed before you like it's meant to. It's not your time anyway. When you were a freshmen in collage, you'd had your palm read at a carnival. 'Your life line is long,' the psychic had said, a long crimson nail tracing your palm. 'Life will bumpy but fulfilled.'

This was just a bump.

"Shut up or I'll shoot." Mike's hands shake and you bet anything that the gun was slick with sweat; his hands always shook when he was nervous. He wasn't cut out for this, Mike wasn't a murderer, you both know this.

"No," you reply, "no you won't." You can't deal with his shit anymore. Everyone thought Chester was crazy, but Mike, he was one a whole new page. As far as he was aware, Chester had never pointed a gun at a lover before.

"I can't live with you in my life anymore. You're like a disease poisoning my mind." Mike cries, spit flying from his mouth. He doesn't look so good anymore, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair flat with sweat.

"Death cures all diseases." You state, not in the slightest bit scared anymore. There was a light at the end of the tunnel; you could see an end in all this darkness.

You may be the disease, but he's the one infected.

You're conceited and evil, being aware of this makes it worse but you don't let him see the smug smile on your face as he lowers the gun.

There's no sound apart from the early morning birds screeching outside, but even they seem to stop as Mike's finger curls back around the trigger.

You don't flinch even as warm blood splatters across your cheek. Instead, you stare straight at Mike's lifeless body. Gunshot wounds to the head are never as pretty as the movies make it seem. It was probably the gun, it had been a powerful one and Mike didn't have a head anymore. Blood, brains and teeth coated the grey carpet. It was a shame really. Mike used to be a cool guy, but you're glad that it was him laying on the floor instead of you.

You should probably phone 911 or something but as you pick up your cell it's Chester's number you end up dialling. He's not the first person you'd think to call; it should be Mike's parents or maybe Anna. However, Chester's been in some pretty weird situations before and he always seems to know what to do at times like this.

The smell suddenly hits you now, filling your nostrils with the scent of death. With one last lingering look towards Mike's corpse, you edge your way out of the room. Your stomach is empty but you're overwhelmed with the need the vomit. Making your way towards the bathroom, you shake off the guilt that clings to your soul. You didn't kill him, he did it all himself. If the cops didn't buy that, then you'd just claim self-defence.

You were the victim in this. You were just another casualty of love. A phrase comes to mind, something Mike had scrawled across a notebook years ago. Often it is the most deserving people who cannot help loving those who destroy them. The accuracy of the words forces you back down on your knees. You retch a few times, your hand resting against the white wall. After pulling the chain, you're shocked when you notice the staining where you'd rested just a second before. A glance down at your palms causes a stone to settle in the pit of your stomach.

There was blood on your hands.

As I said before, I'm not sure it makes much sense but I just needed to get into writing again.