Doing what you have to - Flash Mobs Writes

This is the first time I have written for the Flash Mobs Write challenge, hosted by Cara Michaels & Ruth Long - two awesome writers. They provide a song for inspiration that doesn't need to be referenced, and two prompt lines, one of which needs to be included - although you can use both if you wish. Last week they had a song from The Walking Dead show as an inspiration, so I took a closer look. Initially nothing came, but on Sunday I woke with this story, although I entered it an hour past the deadline. That might be why it didn't warrant a mention, although all the entries, of which there were many, were of a very high standard. I liked this story though, hope you do too.

Now she had the gun up against his head her hand was steady. In every scenario she’d run in her head, Amanda had seen herself shaking, barely able to hold the gun. It was why she’d picked the little Taurus 405 model, easy to hold and easy to conceal. 

And when it had played out in her head she had seen him laughing at her. But he wasn’t. He stood stock-still, an edge of fear in his eyes. She liked that. For the first time ever he was taking her seriously, and when she’d cocked the barrel he’d dropped the conch. 

And while she paused, catching her breath, debating whether to go through with it or not – never imagining she’d get this far – he started to beg. 

“Come on Mand, you don’t want to be doing this. You don’t want to go shooting me. You don’t want that on your conscience. I’m not worth jail time. Come on, this isn’t you. You’re better than this. This isn’t you at all.”

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am, Brandon. I know I’m not who I thought I was. I didn’t think I’d be somebody who’d let a man beat me daily. I mean look at me? Look at the blood trickling down the side of my head. That might be you; it might have been my mother, but it sure as shit isn’t me. And I let you do that Brandon – me, no one else. I let you worm your way in. I trusted you, I believed your sob stories, you excuses, your sorry speeches – ” 

“But I meant them Mand, I really meant them, it’s just –”

She spat in his face. “You didn’t mean a word of them! Not one … single … word! If I wasn’t holding this gun to your head, you’d still be beating me with that!” Amanda kicked the conch across the kitchen floor. “But I was ready for you this time Brandon, because I realised that you were never gonna stop. And I need you to Brandon, because I need to live. I need to show those two little people upstairs, cowering at this very moment that their mother is worth more than that; that she’s stronger than that; that she’s better than that.” 

“But I can change Mand. I can get help. I can turn this shit around, I promise.”

“Promise?” Amanda scoffed a half laugh, the gun held firm. “You’re promises aren’t worth shit Brandon and you know it. You won’t do any of that. Once this gun is removed you’ll beat me to death, that’s what you’ll do. That’s the only promise you’ll keep.” 

She felt his body tense under the barrel of the gun. He knew she was right, and she knew she was right too. And in that moment she knew what she had to do. She pulled the trigger, feeling the warm spatter of blood on her face, and his body slump to the floor.