(no subject)
It’s not his brother anymore. He knows that, but he still tries to get him back. Hands put up, he takes a step towards the shell of his brother.
“Sammy, you can fight this.”
All that stares back though, are cold, heartless eyes. So foreign to what they used to be. He doesn’t move, he only keeps the gun on him.
“Sam, please, comeback.” He whispers, voice trembling.
The words don’t affect him and he raises the gun, a cold smirk coming onto his face.
A dark figure in back of him urges him on, “That’s it Sam. He’s not like you. You’re one of us.”
“No Sammy, you’re not like them!” he tries yelling, hoping he’ll snap him out of it.
It doesn’t work, his brother’s head tilts to the side. Then, without another word, he squeezes the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three.
The shots seem to wake the dead and the older falls to the ground, holding his arms tight around him.
The younger drops his arm and walks over, pointing the gun at his chest again.
The older knows he’s not going to live to see more, his brother now gone.
With a last painful breath he talks to him, “I’m sorry Sammy.”
He squeezes the trigger again.
One.
Two.
Three.
“Sammy, you can fight this.”
All that stares back though, are cold, heartless eyes. So foreign to what they used to be. He doesn’t move, he only keeps the gun on him.
“Sam, please, comeback.” He whispers, voice trembling.
The words don’t affect him and he raises the gun, a cold smirk coming onto his face.
A dark figure in back of him urges him on, “That’s it Sam. He’s not like you. You’re one of us.”
“No Sammy, you’re not like them!” he tries yelling, hoping he’ll snap him out of it.
It doesn’t work, his brother’s head tilts to the side. Then, without another word, he squeezes the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three.
The shots seem to wake the dead and the older falls to the ground, holding his arms tight around him.
The younger drops his arm and walks over, pointing the gun at his chest again.
The older knows he’s not going to live to see more, his brother now gone.
With a last painful breath he talks to him, “I’m sorry Sammy.”
He squeezes the trigger again.
One.
Two.
Three.