What's the harm in Russian Roulette? [privateremp;moo]

They always called her 'stupid.' She tries her best to succeed, make them proud--but who is them? She, tired of attempting to please her peers, family and friends, cracked. She cannot be the happy little girl, always looking on the optimistic viewpoint. No one would ever expect her death to be a suicide. She would just be the idiot who played a deadly game with a revolver.

The tiny vibrant redhead sits cross-legged on the cold, floor. Only five minutes after midnight and she spins a partially-loaded revolver playing a little game of Russian roulette with herself. Sure, she wasn’t playing it ‘right,’ using a partially-loaded gun…. but if anyone comes to join her they’ll die as well--that can't be assisted suicide or murder, can it? If she dies, she wants to enter heaven's pearly gates (or hell?) with someone else, someone willing to take the risk of death--someone ready to embrace it. She lingers a finger though the space of the trigger as it lays, spinning, on the cool ground.

Achelle pushes her hair back behind her ear. What is Russian roulette anyway? Suicide? Homicide? A stupid game teenagers play drunk when at parties? She doesn’t know, nor did she care. She only wants to feel someone else’s pain, instead of the one inside herself. Her apathetic expression lays among her glazed-over brown eyes as she blankly gazes across the empty room. She, in her own perfect fantasy, had everything, but, then, and only then, did that fantasy world come caving in, destroying her ecstasy.

The sound of footsteps startle her, but she cannot leave. She has nowhere to go, but support her weight in the wide open, shady room, staying still--almost as if she is frozen in time, in panic.