I woke up to the sound of someone in my room. I opened my eyes and Mark was standing there at the foot of my bed, looking down at me. It was pure reaction that made me yank the gun out from under my pillow. It was some crazy fear that made me pull the trigger. As I squeezed, he raised one finger, as if to tell me to wait, but that was just not happening.
That damn earsplitting bang was all I could hear. But he didn’t fall, stumble back, or even act like he’d been shot. The bullet didn’t hit him. The bullet never made it. It hung right there in front of that raised finger like a hovering aircraft, defying logic, gravity and physics in general. Mark just started laughing. But not me. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, I was half expecting to feel piss streaming down my thighs.
But then I realized my mouth was closed and the screaming wasn’t coming from me. That bullet wasn’t a living thing. It had no nose, mouth, vocal chords, but IT was screaming. IT WAS SCREAMING. He drew a half circle in the air with that finger and following it, the bullet spun around, facing me. The point dulled and rounded and then it was the whole bullet, until all that was left was a little sphere of metal hanging there, no longer pointing at anything.
And then I woke the hell up in my bed and couldn’t get to sleep.
So here I am.
I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.
I’ve changed my mind, I have plans tonight.