Written By Alan Moskowitz
Alyssa loaded the revolver with one bullet. She spun the cylinder, covering it with her hand making sure that neither she nor David could see in which of the six chambers the fatal bullet waited. She put the gun down between them, the cylinder facing away from them. She picked up the coin, held it out. “Heads or tails?”
David’s mouth went dry, “Come on Alyssa, we don’t have to do this. We can just keep sharing, the way we have been.”
Alyssa shook her head. “Rescue’s at least two weeks away, we both can’t last that long. At least this way one of us will survive. “Call it.” She flipped the coin, David watched it spin up and then drop to the metal table with a clink. She put her hand over it, “call it, honey.” David remained silent.
Alyssa studied his once handsome face, remembering, the monumental exploration they’d launched themselves on, their falling in love, sharing everything equally. And now they’re stranded on this godforsaken waterless planet, and forced into a horrible decision. “It’s only fair.”
David swallowed hard, “Heads.” Alyssa lifted her hand revealing “tails, you first.”
She slid the pistol over to David. He took it in his hand, studied it for a moment. “We’ll each drink less, a lot less, share fifty-fifty.” Alyssa sighed with resolution, “Then we’re both dead.” A tear formed in David’s eye. Alyssa watched it trickle down his emaciated cheek followed by a second drop. He put the gun to his head. His finger gripped the trigger, his hand shaking. He looked into Alyssa’s calm and resolute eyes, and lowered the gun. “I can’t.”
Alyssa understood. “I can.” She took the gun from his shaking hand, checked the cylinder, turned it a few notches until the fatal bullet was next up. She raised the gun to her head.
“I love you!” David cried.
“I love you too,” Alyssa answered, and then shot David in the head. She leaned over and wiped the telltale tear streaks from his face. “There wasn’t enough for both of us David because you didn’t play fair.” She sat back and studied his corpse, oddly feeling very little about killing her one time lover. She considered putting on her suit and dragging him out into the red dust but didn’t have the strength. She clutched the last bottle of water, opened it, took a small cautious sip and sat back to await the rescue craft.
Alan Moskowitz is a retired screenwriter staying sane in Colorado during the pandemic writing genre fiction. He can be reached at email@example.com.