21 Guns

Anna and Milo Woods, rebels from a long revolution, share their last moments together in a crummy motel. The police have surrounded them and there is no way out. Inspired by the song 21 Guns.

Waiting. I hate it. Oh God, how I hate it. I wish they would get this over with. Just come and kill us already. I would rather die sane than insane.

I sit on the couch, staring at him. His fingers roll the bullet, flipping and twisting it. He stares at it, fixated by the way the light danced on the golden shell. I wish he would throw it away. I really wish he would throw it away. He obsesses over it, the bullet that nearly killed him. He keeps it in his pocket and calls it his lucky charm. I just want to rip it from his fingers and throw it into the sea.

My fingers absently combed through my white-blonde hair, threading the damp tresses until they formed rattails. Above the sound of the happy radio, sirens screamed. The cops had us trapped, “like rats” I heard them shout, imagining their cave-like mouths, tombstone teeth, ropes of spittle. He liked to call them Pigs, forgetting that my father was one of them. One of the Pigs. I’ve tried to explain to him. But he can’t understand. He is the son of a rebel, after all.

“ALRIGHT! WE ARE GIVING YOU TWO CHOICES!” the speaker’s words filtered through the drywall of our motel room. We didn’t move, in fact we looked utterly unaffected by the voices that surrounded us on all sides, “EITHER YOU COME OUT AND GIVE YOURSELVES UP. NO HARM WILL COME TO YOUR GIRL WOODS. YOU HOWEVER…ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STORY. OR WE’LL BLOW THE BUILDING TO SMITHEREENS WITH YOU INSIDE IT. YOUR CHOICE. YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES TO GIVE YOURSELVES UP.”

We still didn’t react. We sat in silence for a good minute before I finally glanced at him and said, “Are we going to do something about that?”

He finally pays me some attention, his steel eyes flickering up to my face, “Well what do you want to do?”

I hate it when he does that. I hate him when he does that. Testing my loyalty to the bloody cause. Testing my loyalty to him. Spewing out rebellion rubbish that makes me want to throttle him. My nails dug into my palms and I chewed on my cheek.

I went to the window to shut the blinds against the red and blue. I leaned against the windowpane, staring down the battle scars on my fingers. That one was from climbing a razor wire fence. That one was from an electric fence. That one was from rope burn.

I continued to stare at my hands, willing for the man behind me to say something. To make this all ok. I don’t know what to do and he knows that. Once upon a time, he charmed me with his ideas of freedom and equality. He had me on a hook and I couldn’t help but love him. He was new and exciting and fresh and something different to my altogether boring lifestyle. I was the policeman’s daughter and he was the convict’s son. All he had to do was smile at me and I came running. The least he could do for me now was to think of a way to get out of this. I don’t want to die. I never wanted to die. Hell! I never wanted to become a rebel in the first place. I wanted to settle down with a nice boy in a nice house with nice neighbours and a nice uncomplicated life. I wanted children, with happy smiles and calling me Mama. But no. Instead, I was a rebel leader’s girl, with dirty clothes and no home, following him from town to town because if I didn’t I would be on the streets. And now here I am. About to die.

The lessons I’d learned forced my tears back. Rebels don’t cry. Rebel’s mustn’t cry. That’s not what Rebels do. They don’t get sad. They get angry.

Still facing the window I spat out, “I hate you. Do you understand? I hate you.”

“Babe, not now please. In case you haven’t noticed, we haven’t got time for couple’s counselling,” I heard him say, the bullet clinking on the table next to him.

I didn’t turn to him, “I just thought you should know before we die. Hope you’re happy. You’ve got the death you wanted. All you need now is me in your arms and then it would be really poetic. People would be writing crap poems for the rest of eternity about our poetic demise.”

“Babe please just-”

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up. Just don’t you dare, you lying hypocrite.” I hissed to the window. I felt old then. Not 21. Just…old.

“Anna, look at me. Anna?”

I turned to face him, my face blank as I stared at him. “I hate you,” I repeated, acid boiling in the my words, “I hate you so much, I feel sick with it.”

“You don’t hate me,” he said it calmly. His sun-gold hair shone in the light, damp from his sweat. “We took vows. You promised to cherish and love me for the rest of our existence.”

“I didn’t know what love was. I still don’t know what it is. But I know it’s not this. I don’t want to die for you, I don’t,” I said, voice firm.

“That’s the fear talking,” he said confidently, picking up the bullet again, to spin between callused fingers, “You love this really.”

My fury sparked higher. I flew at him a whirl of fists and feet, I punched him, scratched him, kicked him, bit him, I even smacked his head on the back of his chair. “I hate you!” I screamed into his ear, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

He suddenly picked me up and slammed me against the wall. My head swam and stars blossomed in front of my eyes. Taking my wrists he pinned them above my head and forced his hard body against mine, “Control yourself Anna. You don’t know what you are saying.”

I spat in his face before saying, “I know exactly what I am saying, you f*****g prick.”

He froze for a moment before reaching up and wiping away the spittle from his face, “How was that supposed to make this better?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious.

“It makes me feel better,” I said, my face twisted into a mask of hate.

“You’re too driven by your emotions Anna. In situations like these, you have to think rationally. If I had a choice, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Bullshit!” I snapped, “Everything is about propaganda with you. Its so much a part of your life, even you believe it. I bet your stupid followers are writing goddamn leaflets as we speak.”

“My life isn’t all about that,” he said quietly.

“What then? What is it about? Enlighten me if you will,” I said, the words falling as sharp nails.

“When I made those speeches, when I held those rallies, when I led those sieges, it was with you in mind. You were what drove it all. I wanted to give you a free world.”

“Well commiserations. You failed,” I spat, “and now I hate you.”

“Mere details,” he said evenly, “All I need is to remind you of the meadow back home, the way you used to smile at me, the ring you wear on your left ring finger… I can remind you of why you love me.”

“Do you want to know why I stayed with you?” I panted; my arms were starting to hurt now, “because you were exciting, different and a good f**k. I never felt anything for you whatsoever. I just let it go too far.”

He silenced me by kissing me. His familiar lips were forced against mine and I bit down hard on them. Copper infiltrated that kiss, making it sour. I tried to pull my head away but he grasped it, holding it in place by the fibres of my hair. I was suffocating, drowning in his blood. He pulled away for a moment to hiss in my ear: “You love me, Anna. You love me.”

“I don’t,” I said brusquely, “Now will you f**k off and let me go.”

“Anna, no. I know you love me. As much as you think you hate me, I know that it is not the case. You wouldn’t have stayed this long beside me if you didn’t love me. You wouldn’t have put up such a fight trying to convince me to escape together, if you didn’t love me. You can leave any time you want. I’m not stopping you.” He finally let go of me gestured to the peeling door, “If you want to leave…you know the way.”

“YOU HAVE A MINUTE LEFT TO CHANGE YOUR MIND. ONE MINUTE.”

I stared at him, and then stared back at the door. I made my decision. I strode towards the door and set my hand on the handle. I didn’t even look back. But something stopped me. I stared downwards, taking in my trembling hand. The ring glinted in the light, the only bright and clean thing on me. I closed my eyes and saw the day I first met him, the way he had pulled me up as I tripped in the hallways of school and giving me his rogue grin that haunted my dreams. I saw the meadow where Milo used to tell me his ideas and dreams. Where he made love to me for the first time. I saw the day he asked to marry me, standing in that dirty rundown barrack holding a bright glittering ring. I saw our wedding day, in the bright sunshine of a rebel’s back garden, our hands joined. I saw the way he smiled at me, like I was his only cause for existence. I saw the way he kissed me whenever it felt like we were about to die. A whole slideshow of our relationship just flickered behind my eyelids. And indeed, it reminded me why I loved him. Why I married him. Why I agreed to go with him wherever he went. Why I could not stand to leave the love of my life on his own in his last few minutes.

My fingers one by one let go of the handle. I felt numb at the decision. I couldn’t quite believe it. Was this suicide or martyrdom? What’s the difference anyway? Was dying for someone you love a form of martyrdom? I turned slowly on the spot, looked down at my watch and counted down. 17, 16, 15…I wondered how my family were. Had Jake entered university? Had mum planted that garden she’s always wanted? Did Alice have the wedding she dreamed of?... 9, 8, 7…Do they think of me as often as I think of them? Do they wish I was home?...4, 3, 2, 1…

Cracks and whistles snapped the air. Dusty holes shattered the dry wall. Instinct kicked in and I spun away from the door, ducking behind the couch. A bullet whistled pass my ear and I ducked even lower, trying to make myself as small as possible. I felt his heat close to me and was instantly comforted by his presence, something that would have shocked me earlier.

The guns continued to fire. I imagined hearing laughter over the hack-hack-hack of guns. His hand suddenly took mine. My fingers wrapped around his and I looked into his face. He smiled at me, his rogue smile, as I like to call it and pecked me on the lips. “You ready for this, baby?”

“No,” I whispered, “Are you?”

“Hell no,” he said, “but I’m better because you’re here. I’m going to stand, ok? Do you want to stand with me baby?”

I swallowed before gripping his hand even tighter and allowing him to pull me up. The bullets hissed passed us and I tried hard to ignore them. He wrapped his arms tightly around my waist and wrapped my hands around his neck. This time I kissed him. I kissed him with all I had. His taste infiltrated my mouth and it brought a wave of fresh memories. It wasn’t bitter like the last time, it was tender and gentle. He tightened his hands on my hips and my hands tangled in his hair. His beautiful hair. In the sunlight, it used look like a halo.

That was when something stung me in the side. Maybe it was a wasp, or bumblebee. But it hurt. It hurt so much. I cried out into his mouth, slumping a little against his body and I felt him cup the wound. Sticky warmth trickled down my side, and I whimpered. Pain panged through me as he pressed his hand against the wound, maybe to stem the blood or to share my pain, I’m not sure. I pulled away from his mouth and tightened my grip in his hair, focusing on not collapsing. Tears crawled down my face and I closed my eyes, breathing heavily through my nose.

“I’ve got you,” he said, holding me gently now, “It’s going to be ok.” I felt his lips kiss my tears away and I tried hard to block the tears. He hated it when I cried. I opened my eyes again and stared at his face, giving him a small smile.

Something else must have stung him then. Was it a hornet? He grunted throwing his head back in pain before snapping it back to keep eye contact with me, but he still managed to keep himself upright. Looking down, I saw his khaki trousers were dark with blood. “Thank you,” he gasped out, “Thank you for staying with me.”

“I love you,” I managed to say, lips brushing gently with his, even as pain laced my body, “Even though �"oh Jesus- I hate you.”

He smiled but I could hear his breath start to become ragged, “I love you, even though you sometimes �"wheeze- hate me.”

Something now stung him again in the side. He cried out and we finally fell, crashing to the ground like rag dolls. The bullets now whistled above us but we now paid them no attention. He didn’t let me go though. He pulled me close, making my head rest on his chest. He stroked my hair with trembling fingers, “I love you. I love you so much, it will kill you.” He kissed the stop of my head and continued to stroke the strands of now sticky hair soaked in his blood.

Something stung me again on my leg now and I screamed behind clenched teeth, before panting out, “Tell me the story again. The one about after the Revolution.” I forced my fear down and focused on the beats of my husband’s heart, savouring each and every one.

He took a deep breath before starting, his voice a smooth lullaby, “I’d buy you a nice cottage on the -cough- coast, near to your parents house. The garden would be beautiful, something out of Eden. You’d �"pant- plant your roses and I’d get a good job at the hospital. I’d �"wheeze- come home to find you cooking your famous spaghetti and you’d kiss me on the cheek and ask �"gasp- how work was. And I’d ask you about our children…”

“Anna-Marie, Aaron and Eliza,” I whispered, tracing patterns across his chest, “Our blonde babies.”

I could almost sense him smiling, “Of course. And you’d say that they are out playing in the garden. Hide and seek. I see them. They’re beautiful. They have a beautiful mother.”

Even in death, my face tried to blush, “They have a beautiful father.”

There was the sound of lumbering feet, the door being hammered. “I love you Anna,” he finally whispered, kissing away the residue tears from my face, “I love you. And you love me too.”

“Look! There they are! The two love birds! Aw, how cute. Dying together are we?” The cop that now loomed over us grinned, his mouth exactly the way I imagined it, “Milo and Anna Woods. Any last words?”

Milo pulled me closer and made me tuck my head into his chest, so I couldn’t see anything. All I could smell was his cologne and sweat and blood. “Do it quickly please.”

I gripped his shirt tighter and I whispered an ‘I love you’ before the snap and click of a cocking gun.

© 2011 The Blue Faerie

Author's Note

I'm not too sure about this. Pretty angsty and I'm not sure if it was even realistic enough or if I managed to capture the emotions correctly. It was inspired by the song '21 Guns' and I took a very literal meaning of the lyrics:

Do you know what's worth fighting for?
When it's not worth dying for?
Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating?

Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide?
Did someone break your heart inside?
You're in ruins

One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I

When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul

Your faith walks on broken glass
And the hangover doesn't pass
Nothing's ever built to last
You're in ruins

One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I

Did you try to live on your own
When you burned down the house and home?
Did you stand too close to the fire
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?

When it's time to live and let die
And you can't get another try
Something inside this heart has died
You're in ruins

One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky

One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I

I watched the music video as well (I take great inspiration from pictures more than I do from words) and the idea strengthened. I'm still not sure if it is just garbage that brain happened to spew out. Please, please tell me what you think!