text: I walk down a dark empty hallway. A familiar hallway that echoes my footsteps as if my shoes were for tap-dancing. My trigger finger dragging against the bumped rough painted walls feeling for the corner of the hallway. Once I get to the corner on my left I turn to my right and fumble around for the doorway. That same doorway I've entered a hundred times before. The door is hard wood, just as smooth as the wall. I knock my knuckles against the hard wood. It never sounds loud enough on such thick wood. You're never sure if whoever on the other side really heard you. So I knocked harder, hard enough to make the bone under my skin throb. I can feel my heartbeat between the knuckles. A light suddenly appears on the door. A pair of eyes peek through the four by two inch box. "Password." Demands the eyes, glaring. "We are all God's children." I say. The eyes chuckle back. "Beat it kid." I reach under my coat and unbutton the sheath on my pistol. It's nothing special, wouldn't kill anyone unless it hit them in the head. I had seen on television that a 22. pistol has enough powder to gain the momentum to tear through the skull, but not back out. The bullet will slide and ricochet through the inside of the skull ripping the brain to pieces. Depending on how they fall, you can even see the goopy substance pour out the torn hole. Some sort of brain stew. Also hard to track. Apparently they're not dangerous enough to really commit any crimes with. Maybe our legislature should do a little research. "Did you hear me? I said beat it!" "Come on, you should know me by now." The eyes widened. Then squinted down in fear. He closed the hole. Quickly. I pulled my gun out to my side. There's no sense in trying to beat them within an inch of their life. They'll come back, and with more force. This particular group is like those punching bags that when you hit them, they bounce back up again. Impossible to keep down, unless you deflate it. Deflation is easy, just a puncture of some sort. A blade would due, however I need something more irreparable. I wait and listen to the scuffling behind the door. Pulling my cigarettes from the inside coat pocket. I pat my self down with my spare hand for my lighter and find it in the pocket next to my pocket knife. The door clicks to unlock as soon as I inhale my first cigarette, ever. They say it's a stress reliever. I could sure use some about now. The door swings open and there he stands. One of the scales on the head of a serpent. "Fredricke? I thought you weren't supposed to come here aymore? You're not a part of this family anymore." Jason, the gruff, tough, merciless fool spoke down to me. Almost preachy. As if to tell me that if I didn't get out of here I wasn't going to go to heaven. I already decided I wasn't, not after what I've done. This isn't for Heaven or Hell. This is not for God. This is for me. I breathe in the tobacco. Coughing it out again. The smoke pours out my nose, burning more than it did my throat. I cough back to him. "We are all God's children." He smiles at me. Swings the door wide open to put me in the light. I lift my hand pointing my pistol at him. I have the power here. His smile quickly fades. "Wait just a se-" His voice cut off, overpowered by the first scream of the pistol in my hand. He dropped. Just as I saw in the video games. There is no more power to the brain to control the muscles and so you have to rely simply on the real world physics to direct a corpse. Two people who until the most recent event were just sitting in the corner bolted up and took off towards a back room. I fired one more of my bullets. One of the two fell to the floor. Sat there for just a moment before realizing there was now a hole in his leg. He screamed. Suddenly there was two shots heard from the back room. Then I could hear another ragdoll dropping sound. Followed by more screaming. That's just too much screaming. I raised my gun and shot my leg injured combatant in the head. "Hello?" I asked. "Who else is here?" Two shots more come flying through the wall. I laugh. Not because anything is funny. Everyone is afraid of a crazy guy. Act crazy long enough and your enemies will lose their cool. I laugh more outloud. Cackling like one of the wicked witches of Oz. More bullets come flying through the wall. I feel a quick tear on my arm. Just a scratch. I hide my painin my laugh. Then I stop. Keep everything quiet. I spit my cigarette around the corner into the next room then I hear several bullets hit the ground. I lift the first body from by the door using the method an old friend had showed me he had learned in the Marines. He was a limp lifeless husk. I pull it up over my soulders and to the corner. Just before the next room. I grunt lifting him over my head, and toss him as far as I can around the corner. Explosions shouted as bullets filled the air and the dull thump of them impacting the corpse quickly followed. Until the shots stopped. My ears rang with echoes of the sounds. I was sure the shooting was stopped because my heart has stopped beating in succession with each shot heard. That fight or flight instinct that told me I was still alive also told me when the bullets were flying. I get my gun ready. The womans words in my head. 'You aren't that kind of person. You can be free of this bullshit.' I take aim. I fire. "It's a shame really. Either way I'm on the wrong end of a gun. I just can't find the right side." I cock the pistol. I hold it next to my skull. I pull the trigger. It's like slow motion. You feel the bullet ripping through your scalp. You feel the cracking of your skull. Then you have a headache. The bullet travels at such a velocity through my brain tissue, I suddenly feel myself losing everything. I remember my mothers birthday, I gave her a drawing. I was six. Or was I nine? What was the drawing of? Or was it a neckace I made? Why was I giving her something again? I remember... What? I feel... nothing. The pain stopped. Everything stopped. What am I? I feel like I'm Nothing.