Sole Possesion

"So close." I muttered to myself as I strained my arm to add another inch or so in length. The damp musk hung in the air and stifled my attempt to breathe deeply. The moon shining through the window of this long forgotten shack did little to illuminate my already dull surroundings. "You're so stupid!" I told myself over and over while I squinted, desperately searching the unforgiving darkness for anything that could help me reach. The antique candelabra on the rotting credenza was far too wide to fit through the three or so inch crevice in the floorboards. My belt would fit but would be too flimsy to assist me in the retrieval. I could just barely touch the cold earth below the floor but could not reach the knife, my only security in this dog eat dog world. My only possession had fallen right into what appeared to be the old results of a shotgun. A disastrous feat that I couldn't have done had I been trying. I searched her already cold, lifeless corpse. Her Ruger revolver, now empty, held no value to me. She'd wasted all six rounds trying to take me down and with the growing scarcity of ammunition, the classic weapon of the old west might as well be a paper weight. The beat up, golden, heart-shaped locket resting on her chest would fetch a good trade, if I could ever get out of this precarious situation. I undid the locket's magnetic clasp. An idea instantly came to me. I dangled the locket through the board and eventually heard a satisfying "click" as it connected to the iron hilt of my dagger. Slowly, gracefully even, I pulled on the knife dragging it slightly closer. I lifted, ever so gently, knowing the locket's magnet could hardly hold itself, and the locket came free. I clutched the old locket in one hand I reached again with the other. I fiddled with the intensely sharp edge of my blade and was able to grasp it with two fingers. As I slowly started to lift my dagger out of the hole my excitement was quickly washed away by a small voice behind me. "Mommy?" It said and I spun around, knife now in hand, to see a small girl, maybe 8 or 9 years old. She lay sprawled over her mother's dead body in a hug that made my conscience throb. Her hair was beyond matted and had surely never seen a comb. Even through the darkness I could make out the patches of skin showing through the rips of her ratty clothes. As she sobbed over her mother's body I sputtered out some incomprehensible sounds in an attempt to explain myself and offer condolences. The sputtering sounds continued to fall out of my mouth as I watched her pull a small object from her pockect. I squinted but could only make out the sound of a metallic sequence. A familiar sound. The girl shakily stood and slowly raised her mother's now loaded revolver in my direction. As I lifted my hands and dropped my newly recovered knife to the ground she unhesitatingly fired the one shot. I dropped to my knees on the soggy wet floor and grasped my neck. As the blood burst through my fingers like water through a broken damn the girl reached out her hand. I intuitively held one red stained hand to her as she pulled on the locket still dangling from my outstretched fingers. She looked me dead in the eyes as she reach down and picked up my only worldly possession. She turned sharply, sliding my knife into her belt in the same motion, and walked away.