Dirt - Survival Skills

[troublewillfindme]

“This is an awful idea, you two,” she says, feeling the weight of the gun in her hands.

“Defending yourself isn’t optional,” Weir counters unphased.

(CW: brief, non-graphic suicide reference)
 

 

“The only reason I’m not dead is because I couldn’t pick a place and die there.”

“The only reason you’re not dead is because we won’t let it happen,” Tanya corrects.

“I was planning to mix gin and half a bottle of Lunesta.”

Weir scowls.

“Really?” Tanya wrinkles her nose. “Gin? For a last drink?”

Lizzie shrugs, turning the revolver over in her hands. “Better than scotch.”

Tanya shakes her head.

Weir gives them both a pointed look over his glasses.

“Right,” Lizzie nods. “Shooting. Supposed to do that.”

She sights down the barrel towards the makeshift bullseye Weir’s scawled on a wooden board, propped up against the ruins of a stone wall. She undoes the safety and settles the trigger against the middle of her finger tip, just like he’d instructed her.

She’s surprised how little force it takes to pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a sharp crack and the bullet lodges just to the left of center.

She flicks the safety back into place, and lowers the gun. She turns her attention back to her friends. “You know, under different circumstances, this would be kind of fun.”