The sun is cheerful, and it burns into my eyes as I drive, but I don't bother to set the visor down. I know that it's only a momentary glare, and -

I'll deal with it as such.

The gun box is in the passenger side of my car, open and revealing the velvet lining, the loaded weapon. I don't care who sees it, how much trouble I could get in for having such where it was -

None of it's relevant, now.

Tiny red streaks cry from my arms, the result of my nails digging in, digging down - for a few moments, I'd thought about ending it, again.

Bleeding. Feeling. Dying. It all seemed tied together in a perilous dance, one with only one possible ending.

beepbeepbeepbeep...

My pulse still tuned alongside the heart monitor that paced on miles away from here, the place where I feel -

I should have left my soul there.

Maybe I did, I think, as I speed over the curves in this road, uncertain where I'm going to end up.

Maybe that thought would be a comfort to him, one to myself.

I'd left my soul when I'd left that bed.

That meant I had a soul to give.

My hands grip the wheel all the tighter while I think of this, while I think of many things -

The rage that had brought me here, the naive-looking girl on the Greyhound bus who only sought revenge for her beloved father.

The twisted web of lies and seductions I'd entrapped myself into, the facade that had bled into myself, the act that had somehow become real.

I'd bought into the fact that this could make me invincible.

I'd bought into the fact - I'd cheated love out of someone, used him, been used, and -

I'd hurt more than I should have.

My father - my dear father passed on from this world, out of his pain...

It could have all ended there. Should...

I should have finished what I'd started right now, and shot anyone dead who got in my way. It should have been clean. Simple.

The tears still don't stop.

I didn't follow through, and now history repeats. It stings. Even if I know that I have to remove myself from the equation soon, for my safety...

For his...

I can't hear the beeping in my head anymore. The car stops. One hand unbuckles my seatbelt, then moves gingerly for the gun, fingers curling around it, familiar -

Like an old friend.

He feels gone in my heart, as if in these moments, he has died.

Part of myself dies again. First my father, and now...

I have no proof, save for the heavy feeling in my soul.

That's enough to make me hide the gun, open the door...

In the cheerful, burning sun, it will end.