What happened?

I don't know.

All I know is that I sensed them together: Saw them clutching, grabbing; heard them moaning; tasted their moisture on the air; smelt their combined musk; felt the deepening cavity where my heart had once been.

I love him, my Snitch. He is sheer perfection, always smiling, with a good word for everyone that has a good word for him, his childish innocence making him impossible to hate.

Guess he's not so innocent anymore…

I can still hear them, those noises, so quiet, yet ringing in my ears, like church bells. I lean against the wall outside the bunkroom, wishing that it was me in that room, that Snitch was saying my name over and over again: "Itey, my dear!" instead of "Skittery! My love!"

I realize that somewhere along the line I've fallen to the floor and my cheeks are wet with tears. My skin trembles to hold him, feel his chest against mine. My lips ache, my heart has broken, and I feel both pain and desolation.

I want to end it all.

I stand on shaking knees and start my walk down the steps, to the basement. There's a rifle there. I remember being eight years old, sitting on my knees, Snitch at my side, and Kloppman telling stories about the war, that rifle on his lap. Then, I was ten, and Snitch gave Kloppman some gunpowder for it.

"If the Lodging House ever falls under attack, Mr. Kloppman, you can save us with your rifle." Snitch had told him, smiling bright with naivete. Kloppman had laughed, tousled Snitch's hair and put the gunpowder in the basement with the rifle.

I'm glad to find the lobby area empty, so I can go straight to the basement without question, but I linger on the top stair, gazing into the darkness and shadows below me.

Then I hold my breath and turn on the lantern to descend the stairs.

Running my fingers over dusty shelves, I come across the rifle, and the gunpowder. I take both, hesitate, and then go upstairs. The lobby is still empty, so I grab a chair and prepare the gun.

"Itey?"

I look up as Snitch and Skittery come down the stairs, holding hands, a confused light in his eyes. "Its, what are you doing?"

I take off my boots and leggings, smiling as I pick the rifle up and set the butt on the ground. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Snitch's voice shakes as he speaks. "You look like you're playing with Kloppman's rifle… Itey? You're scaring me. Stop. Please."

I rest my head against the cool metal of the rifle barrel. "Can I tell you to stop loving Skittery?" His face pales, and he averts his eyes. "Thought not. Then no, I can't stop. Because I can't stop loving you with every sense I have."

"Its, please." His voice is rising, and Skittery grabs his shoulders. "You're my best friend, Itey, please!"

I ignore him and place my mouth over the barrel, clinking my teeth against the shiny alloy.

"Itey, no!" His voice is broken with sobs. "Please, Itey, stop!"

My toes curl over the trigger, and I shut my eyes."

"No! Itey!"

Pressure on the trigger… biting the metal against the soon-coming pain and current fear.

It seems that all but one of my senses leave me as I fall into the whirlpool of shadows and light that they all call death…

Hearing stays with me…

Snitch's sobbing pleads, thick with tears, echo around me, and it seems that they may continue to do so forever.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

I don't know if turn of the century rifles had bells or not… I'm assuming they didn't… but I'm not sure. I actually think the gun with a bell is called something else… I knew it earlier… a shotgun or something… don't know.

But! The method Itey used to kill himself is called the Hemingway Method, and I was bored with people killing themselves by slitting their wrists, jumping OR hanging. So. I tried the Hemingway Method.

I like Rosie's poison idea too. That may be next. XD