by Tracy (biancaheart@yahoo.com)
Category: Liz POV
Rating: PG
Spoilers: "Busted"
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell. Other people do.
A gun.
I'm holding a gun in my hands.
Two years ago, a gun was in somebody else's hands.
Two years ago, I almost died.
One year ago, I told myself that I was done with this. I was done with the alien aspect of my life, and I would move on, working for the local Congresswoman.
She was an alien.
And now I'm standing here with a gun in my hands.
I don't like guns.
Yet I feel the cool metal in my hand. The Coolness burns in my hands. It is so cool that it hurts.
The bullet out of a gun is so warm. Chemical reactions, energy conversions, pushing the bullet out of the gun- I tell myself, remembering some of the many useless facts that have been hammered into my head.
But I know the temperature, the molten temperature of metal. The temperature of blood as it leaves your body.
Two years ago, a gun nearly killed me.
I would be dead now, if Max hadn't saved me.
Two years ago, I could never see myself doing this. This is not a normal, average, everyday event for Elizabeth Parker, honor roll student.
Two years ago, I never thought that I would have to watch a friend be buried. Not this soon- and not after a murder.
A gun nearly killed me.
I saw my life flash before my eyes, and it in no way resembles the path my life has taken since.
A gun nearly killed me. A simple thing, like this gun I hold in my hands.
A gun nearly killed Kyle.
A gun didn't kill Alex.
I used to be afraid of guns. I didn't want to remember, to think about that day- to think about death.
I don't have that choice anymore.
Two years ago, I started to grow up.
Now, two years later, I'm about to hold up a store. It scares me, how far, how far I'm willing to go to be with Max. How much I'm willing to do simply because I love him.
I have a gun in my hand.
Have I grown up enough to use it?