Bullet to Eternity-Short story

Head bobbing in tandem to his steps, the man made his way towards the cabin through the leaf shaded path. His steps weighed heavy from the rucksack he carried. Coming to a halt the man paused, and his hand patted the leather holster belt which wrapped around his waist; and then to his pocket where he pulled out the folded map and checked his way.

The man grimaced as he noticed the steep incline ahead, verified his path to the coordinates, and then marched on towards his destination. With the light fading fast now, Frank could just make out the orange clouds that danced and morphed through the dappled boughs around him. The winds blew stronger as the minutes passed, and it seemed to Frank that the storm would arrive before he did.

As he marched into the dusk, he daydreamed.

“I’m sorry but I just don’t feel it anymore!” The words echoed around Frank’s mind.

Frank could feel the tears stream down his face before he realised what was happening. No sound was necessary to realise he was indeed crying. His whole world had stopped and all he could feel were the salt laden droplets welling in his eyes and the voice of the woman he loved spelling out his fate.

Frank felt the itch on his cheek when another tear welled and fell as he trudged on. Wiping the tear, he considered the tightness in his chest and knotted stomach which had never abated since she took her stand against him and plunged him into the abyss only days before.

Shaking his head as if to ward off the memory the hand darted towards the holster with its silver destroyer swaying with his gait; weighing heavily he noted but nothing in comparison to the invisible chains around his neck.

Reaching a clearing on the trodden path Frank felt and heard the first drops fall against his jacket as the now deep red storm clouds intermingled with the dusk. Frank quickened his pace racing the gusts and the oncoming spatter hoping to get to the cabin before any thunder clapped.

The rain was falling hard now when Frank made out the cabin for the first time. It stood strong and welcoming in the clearing ahead, and he made a run for it when the first clap of thunder rang in his ears making him jump into action.

Reaching the awning that encompassed the front of the timber cabin Frank threw off his rucksack careful not to jolt its fragile contents too much. Checking his pockets, he pulled out the large key that the park ranger had given him when he paid up front for the weekend lodge.

Rattling the lock, the creaking door opened wide to reveal a darkened gloom which Frank illuminated with his head torch. He could make out the fireplace, table and chairs and a couch as he quickly scanned the room. Oil lamps adorned the walls and counter tops and Frank made haste to brighten the room.

An old newspaper was to function as kindling for the fireplace and Frank was soon knotting the paper into coils and adjusting the wood into a nest. The paper took light, and Frank roasted his hands at the burgeoning flames.

First, Frank removed the gun from the holster and placed it on the table. It spun slowly against the wooden surface as he removed his hand. Then he reached inside the rucksack and took out a towel wrapped bottle.

Frank was delighted it had not broken in his trek and scanned the kitchen work tops for any glasses.

The fire crackled and popped in its mantle as it took hold.

Frank sat back in the kitchen chair at the table and surveyed first the bottle, then the glass and then the gun.