Spinning Out of Control

The gun lay on the worn wooden table, the dull, black metal a shocking contrast to the white oak under it. It reminded Glenda of her former life, dressed in the black and white habit of The Sisters of Perpetual Obedience. She shook her head. Her chopped blond hair bounced around her pixie face some strands covering the teardrop tattoos under her left eye. The men sitting across from her never took their eyes off of her incongruous expression. Thinking Glenda as innocent as her appearance suggested would get you in big trouble. She smiled and the three big boys shivered.

Glenda picked up the Taurus 5-Shot Revolver, spun the chamber, put the nozzle to her right temple, grinned and pulled the trigger. She didn't flinch. The boys did. She put the gun down on the table in front of Sam. They were all sober now as Glenda was from the beginning.

She only drank bottled water. Her wants and needs were simple but specific. It was a matter of control. After nine years in prison, she walked a fine line between routine, things she could control and choosing exactly what she wanted without regard to others' concerns. Plus, alcohol is what landed her in prison to begin with. She had been too drunk to protect herself. That would never happen again.

Death didn't scare her. She couldn't die. She figured that might be an important bit of information for her gaming buddies, but all was fair when it came to gambling for living expenses and proving who was the baddest ass in the room. She winked at Sam.

He lifted the gun with a shaking hand. He spun the chamber three times. He looked at his buddies. Bob and his other brother, Sam, (yes, these were three brothers, Bob, Sam and the other brother, Sam - their parents fans of some ancient sitcom - but still trying, in vain, to be creative) both shrugged. The four of them had been playing Russian Roulette for forty-five minutes and six rounds each. They were all still alive, beating the odds. Hence, Sam Number One's fear of continuing the game.

"You could just pay up," she said, "if you're too scared to go on." Glenda leaned back on her chair, tilting on two legs. Her black combat boots swung in the air to the beat of a song she had been humming since she entered the bar.

Sam Number Two Pushed a pile of bills in front of Glenda. "I'm out," he said. He pushed back his chair and headed towards the men's room.

"I've had enough." Sam Number One set the gun down in front of Bob. He crunched his bills in his fist. He thrust the money at Glenda and growled. "You ain't normal."

She laughed.

"That, my dear, sir, is an understatement." She waved her fingers at Bob. Each had a silver spoon ring on it.

Bob remembered that she had made the same move when they first met. Perhaps she had hypnotized them into playing this ridiculous game.

The gun lay on top of his pile of money. He would have to pick it up, either to continue or give her his cash.

What to do? What to do?

Note: Yes, I know the gun in the picture is not a revolver.