How Best to Avoid Dying Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Come on. Put it away.”
    She placed her hands under his and closed his fingers around gun. She raised herself to her knees and moved closer to him, lifting his hand slowly, the butt of the gun toward the ceiling. He was having trouble thinking. “Please,” she said. Hedidn’t resist her. Even opened his lips a little. He could taste metal. Tasted like lake water. He pulled his head back, away from the barrel like it was something toxic. “Shh,” she said. “You’re okay.” It was the tone she used when he got frustrated with bills, or couldn’t fix the heater. It was a sweet tone. Like a mother.
    He tried to think. He should stop this. He should want to stop this. He tried putting it all together, lining up all the elements. She wouldn’t hurt him, he was sure of that. She also wouldn’t put a gun in his mouth. But she was putting a gun in his mouth. His hands on the gun. He was not stopping her. Logic wasn’t working.
    She took her hands away and he started to remove the gun.
    â€œNo, no,” she said. “Leave it there.”
    She leaned in and ran her nails along his scalp. The barrel rattled against his teeth. She was close, her breath on his scalp, her dark hair over his eyes, her breasts touching his chest, her smell all over him.
    â€œSee?” she whispered. “This is good. You feel close to it all.”
    Tastes like lake water. That’s what he kept thinking. Lake water.
    She kissed his neck. “Now,” she said into his ear. “I want you to pull the trigger.”
    His eyes were stinging and his mouth salivating. His throat cramped. He couldn’t swallow his spit.
    She moved one leg over him, and with a knee on either side, let her weight rest on him. Her face was in front of him. Floating. Blurry. Candlelight slowed to a smear. He couldn’t read the numbers on the digital clock behind her. Couldn’t remember her middle name. He didn’t know her. Hardly knew her.
    She put her hands on his cheeks, hands so hot. Her expression was serious now, like a teacher turning stern. “Do this now, or I leave and you will never see me again.”
    He shook his head and moaned. A line of dribble fell from his lip. She leaned in, “Shhh,” and kissed his forehead, leaving her lips on him for a long moment. She leaned back. “This is happening,” she said.
    Throw the gun. Throw it against the wall, he thought. He could feel the barrel in his mouth, feel his tongue near the hole, feel her heat, her breath, feel his hands on the handle, her legs around his. Could feel each space of flesh, each moving blood cell. It was Christmas in his home, with his wife. It was Christmas and there was lake water and her moving against him. It was Christmas.

THE MARTYRS OF MOUNTAIN PEAK
    Kent is dead. All the kids at the camp are crying and singing and praying. They don’t know that it was my turn, not his.
    Rich is standing in front of us leading the songs. The ten kids who had Kent as a counselor are huddled in the front row. Already seven of them have announced that they’ve given their lives to Christ—although one is actually regiving his life, since he already gave his life to Christ as a sophomore, but since then he’s been smoking pot. None of the kids I counsel have given their lives to Christ, but they look pretty sad.
    We’re singing “Desperado,” but with the words changed. The lyrics are flashed on a screen.
    Desperado, why don’t you come to love Jesus ,
    You know that he sees us
    For so long now…
    It was Kent’s favorite song. Pricilla Brone is helping Rich by leading the girl echo parts. She’s got tears on her face and her hair is all shiny. She’s so pretty it hurts to look at her, especially when she sings. When the song ends, Rich asks us to bow our heads and pray. All two hundred and six teenagers close their eyes and bow their heads, even the kids who hang