Creation and destruction
His eyes were crossed. The cold cylindrical corridor stared at His face. Air pooled around Him and cooled the sweat which seemed like a constant reminder of His life these days- something cold, putrid- something that is produced to help, but is only a nuisance.
He focused on the barrel, refusing to see the face beyond it, the face he had seen so many times before. Filled with laughter. Filled with hope.
Once quick glance. The figure was not the person He had once known. She was devoid of emotion.
“No one believes in You anymore. When the clock strikes twelve, You leave this world.”
The velvety voice rang through the courtyard, caressing His ears in an all too familiar embrace. He couldn’t help but close His eyes, remembering their designs, their creations, the joy of seeing their dreams fulfilled.
The minute hand seemed to desperately climb its steep ascent. Fifteen seconds to go. The gun loaded with a click that rang through the dead night.
He heard the smile in Her voice.