Work Text:
I am many things, all in quick succession.
First, I am the harbinger.
When men hear me, I send them running; they know their life could be in danger. More often than not, they unknowingly run towards me.
Then, I am the fire.
When someone sees me, they get even more fearful; when I look back at them, there is no longer any point in running.
Then, lastly, I am the loss.
When people finally meet me, it is over. Even if we part amicably, they are never the same again.
I am The Bullet.
And I make everyone fall.
She did not see me coming; for this time, it was not my turn to move.
The Redcoat came out of nowhere. Appearing from the shadows, he grabbed her so fast she didn’t have time to do anything. She couldn’t struggle, for he held her tight. She couldn’t scream, for his hand was around her throat.
Just moments ago, she had simply been another girl talking to her friend. But she knew too much, they said. So, she had to go.
Her neck snapped, and it was when the soldier threw her aside– like she was nothing – that she fell.
The battle had been going on for days when I met this soldier. I had been so very busy, rushing from one person to the next. Soldiers had been lost on both sides. So many that I lost count very early on.
War is a dreadful thing; messy and unforgiving, no matter who you are or what you’re fighting for.
This man was a Redcoat. Fighting against the freedom so many wanted. Fighting for things to stay the same.
But he was still a person.
It took two people to take him down, and the Revolutionaries cheered as he fell.
I had met this man before. He was there when the Redcoat died. He had been surrounded by allies back then, but now those that surrounded him were fighting against him.
The war was over. And his enemies didn’t even know it.
He had been filled with so much adrenaline as the war raged on. That had slowly turned to determination; for he knew his work was not done yet.
He didn’t know if he’d live to see his dreams come true. But he was determined to fight for them anyway.
His dreams died before he did, because he fell.
I actually hate meeting people. The hardest are those that are young.
This boy was so like his father. I knew that, even from a distance. He possessed the same ability to flirt with everyone he met.
Everyone and everything. For he flirted with me.
But that is not the same as love. Love was this boy’s fatal flaw.
His hand was up in a surrender that wouldn’t be honoured. His heart, so very pure, was full of fear and shock when we met. But more than anything, his heart was full of love for his father when he fell.
This was not the first time I saw him. From the very beginning, I’d been following him, and he’d evaded me each and every time. Countless times on the battlefield we had passed each other, just a single movement away from collision.
And in circumstances similar to the current one – of which there had been many – a meeting had never occurred. We parted ways without violence, for his charm kept luck on his side.
But it seemed that his luck had run out. His fate, it seemed, was to be the same as his son’s.
So, at last, he fell.