Writing Prompt: Turns out, the prop gun was real.
She grabbed the gun, her hands trembling around the hilt as she pointed it at the man standing before her. Anger licking through her veins, pressing her into action, shutting away the sliver of opportunity to turn around, to walk away, forget it ever happened; he ever existed. But she was here now and she had a gun. And he was right there. He was right there denying everything. He never dropped his pants for that slut, her supposed best friend. She was mistaken; caught up in a moment of jealousy getting the wrong end of the stick.
But she was not wrong.
‘Lucy, babe,’ he said raising his arms in the air, palms forward. ‘Put down the gun.’
‘Don’t you dare “babe” me! Tell me why you did it. Tell me why you’d betray us like that… for her.’
‘Look, I don’t know what you expect me to say, Lucy, but nothing happened.’
A scream of rage tore through her throat spurring her into action, her finger closing on the trigger. Two shots. Bang bang.
He staggered backwards, a look of shock spreading across his eagle features. She wasn’t supposed to shoot. His small fingers rose to his chest, a glint of white against a backdrop of flaming red. The man fell to his knees, a gargled noise breezing past his lips. What had she done?
‘Oh my god, oh my god,’ Lucy screamed, the gun falling with a clatter to the floor. ‘I shot him. I shot him.’
Her knees thudded against the hard wood, the impact sending a wave of pain though her joints. It steadied her; grounded her into reality, into the lifeless body of the man before her. Her sweaty fingers sought out his neck, searching in vain for a pulse. Nothing.
She looked up and into the eyes of the growing crowd until she found the ones she had been looking for, the emerald green orbs behind the thick black rims.
‘You said it was safe. You said everything on the set was a prop! He’s not breathing…’