Don't Make Me Shoot

Two

Katherine was bathed in her own terror. That reminded her, she was filthy. The looked across the desolate wasteland that was once a powerful nation's capital. A piece of marble statue lay to her far left. It was the giant head of a man. Nearly fifty feet away from it was his body, seated in a regal way in a giant throne. And a few yards from this was what once must have been a building just as regal as the man, but it was now nothing more than ruins. She stepped towards the man's head, and suddenly felt small. She gulped and stepped around, saluting him, for surely he had been a king or a nobleman in another life. She finally made her way to the rubble, and she noticed something of contrast, pitch black against the only slightly dirty white rubble. She rushed towards it, tripping over herself and only stopping to get back up and off again. She sat down next to it when she reached the object. She picked it up and examined it. She realized with a pang that it was a gun. A memory surged back in her mind, like someone hot-wiring a car. She saw a hand, not slim or feminine like those of her family, but rough and oddly square. It held a gun identical to the one she was currently clutching. It was pointed out away from the holder, as if to shoot someone. And then it did. She heard a cry of pain and it, too, was rough, unfamiliar, and unlike that she usually experienced. She felt another pang, as if she closely knew and loved the recipient of the bullet. She forced the memory away, dropped the gun into her sack and began walking . She'd need a new shelter now that someone knew she was here.