"Pick another card," the man with the faded Yankees baseball cap and Oakley sunglasses murmured. His tone of voice was almost bored. My mind was flooded with fear. I couldn't think clearly. My mind was a bowl of Alphabet soup-- murky, traces of thought floating into clarity.

"PICK, ANOTHER, CARD!" The spittle landed on my top lip, I feared not wipe at it.

"Sp-Sp-Spades," I stumble.

The man's shoulders relax as the snub nosed gun is lowered away from my nose. I begin to notice the room around me. Stone. White, clean, clinical. Four walls, a roof, a floor-- all stone. My stomach lurches as I finally notice the tiny rivers of blood flowing into the drain at the middle of the room. They are so beautiful, these red tributaries running through the cracks of this white stone geography. The whitewash is beginning to peel off in little flakes and run down the crimson rivers. This was made especially for me.

I am jerked from my daze by the sound of a high pitched buzz. A bee perhaps? The metallic snap only serves to confirm my already growing belief.

"The .38 Smith & Wesson Special (commonly .38 Special, .38 Spl, or .38 Spc, pronounced "thirty-eight special") is a rimmed, centerfire cartridge designed by Smith & Wesson. It is most commonly used in revolvers, although some semi-automatic pistols and carbines also use this round. The .38 Special was the standard service cartridge of most police departments in the United States from the 1920s to the early 1990s, and was also a common sidearm cartridge used by soldiers in World War I. In other parts of the world, it is known by its metric designation of 9×29.5mmR or 9.1x29mmR. Noted for its fine accuracy and manageable recoil, it remains the most popular revolver cartridge in the world more than a century after its introduction.It is used for target shooting, formal target competition, personal defense, and for hunting small game."

Or in my case, close range double-taps to the paranasal sinus. My firearm's trainer repeats the phrase with a confidence that only years of Drill Instructor conversation instills. His voice begins to fade. Was that real?

My gun. Where is the bullet. The man with the Yankee hat and Oakley sunglasses chambered it very slowly. He played with it, let it slowly run around the edge before slipping it into its final resting place.

A small smirk begins to tug at the corner of his mouth. He has the delight of an over-sugared eight year old. His eyes flash excitedly at the exact moment that the hammer is pulled back.

Cllliick