Roulette Russe

Midnight. Spinning the chamber, my doubts must have been amplified by the tense expression on my face, though I tried to disguise my disquiet. I thrust the barrel end against my temple, looking my antagonist directly in the eye. I squeezed the trigger – CLICK!

Nodding, a barely perceptible, deathly grin briefly animating his face, he took the revolver from my hand. I would have liked my grip to have been steady, but I could feel it waver, as could my opponent.

Pointing the weapon at his own frontal lobe, he immediately pulled back on the trigger – CLICK! Before I could take the gun from his hand, he drew it back, looking me directly in the eye.

"We could end this now, you and I," he said. "Save a life for the Emperor. For the Fatherland. Let us agree to end our dispute and shake hands."

"Allez au Diable!"

I wrenched the iron instrument from his unwilling grasp to take it into my own right hand. Looking again directly into his gaze, I lifted the revolver to the side of my head, roughly in line with my eyes, and hesitated but a moment. It was enough to confirm his suspicion of my wavering determination. I hesitated no more – CLICK!

Three chambers tested. Three left to try. Again, he took the weapon and, touching the barrel to his temple, squeezed the trigger without a moment's hesitation – CLICK!

We locked gaze. I reached forward but he again held back.

"This is the final round," he said. "We have both proved our honor and our courage. Let us end it now, I implore you." He said it without fear and without hesitation. He spoke as if genuinely concerned that this abysmal affair should not end in bloodshed.

I too, now felt calm. Resigned to whatever fate the revolver had waiting for us. If the ball and powder were in the next chamber, he would win and I would die. If the next chamber was empty and the live round in the final chamber, we would know before he took the weapon. I had no doubt he would finish the duel and his own life without hesitation. Though I hated the sight of him, I could not impugn his honor or his courage in any way. If I survived the next pull on the trigger, his death was certain. If I died, it would no longer matter.

"There is only one way to end it," I said, with finality.

This was it. With obvious reluctance he held the pistol out to me, grip first. I took it firmly and, glancing up at the clock as I pressed the barrel one last time into my forehead, noticed the minute hand wavering, before shuddering over to the first minute of the new morning. I squeezed the trigger at that same moment.

CLICK!

Looking across the table I see him jump at the sound. See his face dissolve into a mass of tears. Was I wrong? Was he now scared to play out his part to the end?

"Oh Claude!" he says. Oh Claude, Claude, Claude... Mon frère... Mon beau petit frère... Would that I could take your place. Would that the fatal chamber had been mine."

I rise up above him. What can he mean? What is he talking about?

Following his tearful gaze, I see a man sprawled forward before my horror-stricken brother, Antoine. The man's cranium is shattered, a sticky red and gray ooze spreading across the surface of the table.

I look down upon my own

blood and brain-spattered corpse.

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