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Preparation
I carve markings into a bullet shell. Pat. I polish my revolver.
I sigh to myself, “It didn’t have to come to this.”
Tonight, it's my life, or his. I clock one slot in the chamber with the carved bullet. I swing around and cold metal rests between my eyes. A bang then silence follows.
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This is written in a genre called 55 Fiction and is a novel told in exactly 55 words.