As it is, I'm not looking at the stars. I'm sitting on cold concrete, legs folded in front of me. Elbow resting on leg. And I'm staring at something much darker in my hand. My half-opened eyes are just barely focused on the semi-automatic I'm presently gripping. It's an old gun. A hand-me-down, if you will. That's the kind of family I come from. I think mom snuck this one to me shortly after my fifteenth birthday. It lived unused in a box under my bed until I moved out and chucked it into storage. Recently retrieved, I decided it was high time to pull it out and enjoy it. The barrel's pressed to my forehead. Finger on the trigger. I inhale one, precious breath.

I squeeze the trigger.

Click. What? I know I manage to do some seriously stupid shit, but even I wouldn't hold a loaded pistol to my head.

I sit there like that. Pulling the trigger of the empty gun. Just to hear that light click sound. Even though I know it's not loaded I flinch each time. Still, I keep doing it. As if I'm trying to acclimate myself to the sound of a gun against my head. Click. Click. Click. I can feel the inner workings of the gun shifting. I can feel the slight thump against my head. To think, that little click could kill. Without the ammo, however, it's useless and hollow. Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. If you want to get literary about it. Click click.

The little sound penetrates the near-silence on the rooftop. Makes enough noise that it helps my mind wander. Click. Click. So much potential in this little pistol. It needs ammunition, though. Real firepower. Something to enable it to reach out to what it could be. Because this useless click noise isn't doing anyone any good. The steps to move it from useless weapon to metal are easy ones to take though. If you know where to go. It just so happens..I know where to go.

Click. I realize I've stopped flinching at the sound. No. This is nothing to be afraid of. I'm done being afraid. I just need to get myself some ammunition.