A short short story I wrote in response to the last writing prompt. Your advice is still very welcome.

The doorknob turned, a faint rattle of metal and the faint scratch of mechanical parts before the latch caught, immobile. It squeaked a protest, as did whoever tried to open it.<br><br>“Hey!” A woman’s voice.<br><br>I kissed the barrel of the gun and slid it behind my pillow, twisting until the smooth cotton slipped down my shoulders, untying the drawstring. <br><br>I slid back the curtains, slowly. The windows were made of clear plastic, so the sunlight hurt and the street seemed to shimmer and blur in the heat. It was drizzling because of that, and the woman’s black hair was slick with rain. She leaned against the door, hands on her hips, lips pursed. Through the rain, her eyes shone like stars. <br><br>I pulled the curtains back, slowly, and turned to face her.<br><br>She was here, after all this time. By some miracle.<br><br>“Baby?” She said, hand on the door, the skin of her fingers like light brown leather. She was so beautiful, I felt sick. <br><br>I ran a hand through my hair. It still felt the same, like the best, softest sand on the beach. Her hair. <br><br>I pulled the gun back out, though I didn’t remember it, and put it in my mouth. I assumed I was doing this right, my hands more coherent than my brain. It didn’t matter, just the action did. <br><br>I pulled the trigger. <br><br>The sound of the shot was muffled, and the barrel tasted bitter. I remembered her taste, felt it on my tongue. <br><br>I pulled the trigger. The shot was louder, the sound sharper. The barrel felt hard and cold, and the taste was gone. <br><br>I pulled the trigger, and the world went silent.