The Red Drink

There's a loud crack, louder than I've ever heard before, and then a ringing, slightly less deafening than the crack. The world around me is shaking violently. It eventually blurs into nothingness. It's not black or white, it's... it's not anything but blinding.
"Abby?" A voice calls, alarmed, yet as if in slow motion. The voice rings out around me, but eventually dissipates. Why does that name sound so familiar?
"Abigail!" The voice is louder this time. More alarmed, and... sad. The voice lingers a bit longer than before, yet, as before, it fades. I look around to see who is calling out.
Nothing, nothing, and... a table.
Through the blinding light, I see a bistro table, more ornate than any other. On it sits a glass of red wine. Except... it doesn't look like wine. The usual bright, red, clear color looks thicker and darker. More of an opaque crimson.
"Please, wake up. Wake up! I'm so sorry!" The voice calls out once more. The man calling out is sobbing, now. His never-ending sobs echo throughout... wherever I am.
With nothing else to do, I walk over to the tiny ornate table and pick up the wine glass. I carefully examine it, and then take a sip. The metallic taste hits me instantly.
Blood! It's blood! I accidentally pour too much into my mouth in my panic, causing it to roll down my chin. I immediately drop the glass and spit it out, coughing up the small amount that I swallowed.
I break into a coughing fit, coughing up more blood than I swallowed. More blood rolling down my chin than had gone into my mouth. Tiny shards of glass propel themselves into my legs as I fall to my knees, coughing.
My head is spinning. The light is brighter. The sobbing is louder. A pool of blood beneath me. And then... nothing. No light. No sobbing. No blood. I feel... nothing. Everything is nothing.

And then I'm there. It all comes flooding back to me.I'm Abigail, I suddenly realize. That's me. Matt, my husband, and I, are fighting. That's the voice I was hearing. Matt's voice.
I have no control. I'm looking through my eyes, but that's all I can do. Someone else is in control. Then he pulls up a gun, aiming it towards me.
"Matt," My mouth utters, without me making it, "Put... the gun... down..."
Then there's the all too familiar cracking noise. I don't feel any pain, but still I can feel the bullet fly through my forehead. He stands there, shocked, and then rushes towards me.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, what did I do?" He checks my pulse, even though he knows he won't find one. "Abby?"
"Abigail!" He yells at me frantically, worried, yet I don't do anything. I can't do anything. "No no no no no!"
"Please, wake up. Wake up! I'm so sorry!" He's sobbing now. "I didn't mean to... I-I... Abby... Say something!"
But I can't. Blood pours from my body, but I can't do anything. I... I'm dead. Matt hunches over my unmoving body and sobs, and I want to cry. I want to cry, too, but I can't. I'm dead.

Reviews

[Rhia Barton]

Very chilling. That imagery of coughing up more blood than she drank was very dark but I loved it. 'I don't feel any pain but still I can feel the bullet fly through my forehead'. I do wonder how she got into that situation and why her husband would shoot her and then say it was an accident. The idea of being able to feel something like that invade your brain but not register the pain is almost maddening to me, I can't imagine that but that's what makes it so intriguing. Very good work!