Author: ErroneousAxiom AKA Me
Category: The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Disclaimer: Sucks to be me--I own nothing.
Summary: Gail Wynand reflects. Post novel; one shot; no spoilers.
Feedback: Loved loved loved. Looooved. Please leave some. 3
Title:
Empty
The gun felt empty against him palm.
His gaze slid over the surface of the metal. Cold, smooth against his fingers. He let the gun rest on his leg, his fingers limp against the handle, as his other hand lifted slowly. He rotated his hand in the air, looking at it with the mildest of interest. Maybe it wasn't the gun that was empty. Maybe it was his hand that was empty.
Empty skin. Skin over nothing, protecting nothing. There was nothing to protect anymore… No, anymore wasn't right. There had never been anything in the first place. Empty past, empty present, empty future.
This didn't mean anything even as it occurred to him. Did that mean he possessed an empty heart? His empty head leaned backwards, connecting with the wall that protected his bedroom. The empty bedroom of an empty house, floating above an empty city. His empty gaze fixed aimlessly on the ceiling above.
Empty eyes, empty head, empty heart, empty skin.
Empty life.
His fingers let the gun drop away. It echoed hollowly as it hit the floor, the sound seeming to reverberate endlessly through the empty air. He would not kill himself. Not today. Not when it would be an empty sacrifice.