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I stood there in the cold, damp waiting room. Everything was silent. There were six of us. No one knew anyone and no one said anything. We just stood, waiting in a line for something; anything to happen.
Down the line, I could hear two of the women crying; one of them softly. I knew that everyone felt exactly what they felt, but no one would speak it. I could not blame them. Everyone had their own problems, which no one spoke about. Like the man at the end, wearing a torn suit that was covered in dirt. His face starting to show signs of neglect. A few down from him was a child, wearing a beautiful dress, one that had no a spot of dirt on it. She covered her face with her gloved hands and kept quiet, not looking for help from anyone.
The door at the far end opened and three men walked inside, joined by the two men that had been standing quietly in the corner, pointing their guns in our direction. The first man to walk in moved in front of the man with the torn clothing. He did not speak as he examined the person standing in front of him. With what he was wearing, I could only guess that he was an officer of some sort. Though, he slowly looked down the line, moving his brown eyes slowly. It was like he was envisioning everyone's life in his mind. When his eyes reached mine, I knew he did not care. He showed no compassion to my situation or my life that was standing before him.
That officer then looked away and pulled a revolver out of his pocket and loaded a single bullet inside the chamber. He spun it closed as a smile came across his face. He spun it again, and again and again until he was satisfied with the result. Without a second thought, he pointed the gun at the torn clothed man in front of him and pulled the trigger.
The man had a horrified look on his face as he took a step back from the deadly metal inches from him. The officer showed no signs of emotion in his face as he turned and took two steps to the right, moving himself in front of the woman who had been crying slightly too loud.
"Oh, please no," She pleaded as she placed her hands to her forehead and began to pray. The officer just held the gun up to her head and pulled the trigger.
"Praise the load," She whispered as the officer moved to the child.
Click. It just kept clicking until finally there were two people left: the man next to me and myself. The officer walked over and stood in front of the my neighbor and then looked at me. He held the gun up and looked between us, almost as if he was debating who he wanted to try first. The man next to me had similar clothes to mine. It was nothing fancy, but there were no tears or rips, and minimal dirt from being dragged into this place. He seemed healthy enough, but his cheeks and eyes seemed swallow, almost as if some of the life had been sucked from them. His hair was grey-ing around the edges, even though he looked only in his thirties. This made me wonder why he was here, and if he deserved the bullet I did not want.
I pleaded secretly to myself though, hoping it was not mine, but at the same time, I prayed that it was. I could not stand the suspense of waiting to find out if I will be luckily enough for that click.
My whole world came crashing down when the officer pointed his gun at me. I could not run; I could not breath. All I could do was stand there and resist the urge to turn and move. I knew that if i tried to escape they would kill me for sure, and that if I stayed here, I had a some chance of living.
I stared down barrel of the gun. The darkness from inside was calling to me, pulling me in. A smile appeared on the officer’s face as he placed his finger on the trigger. I closed my eyes and waited.