She could see her reflection in the metal. It got clearer and clearer as she rubbed the grey blue cloth over the grooved surface. She knew every rise, every fall, every piece, every part of it. She could see her face getting more and more distinct with every pass of the cloth. Her hair was tousled, she looked tired, and her eyes were red.
She looked away from the gun, her face felt tired, it felt stiff. She set the gun down carefully, slowly, and touched her face with her fingertips. Her hands trembled and she could hear the shallow breaths as she took them. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and pressed until she could feel the pulse of her heartbeat through her fingertips. And she closed her eyes as her breaths came quicker, shallower, and she felt her shoulders hunch and her lips parted. They felt dry and chapped and she hated the way her breaths sounded. Because she was crying.
They were shaky gasps that shook her shoulders and caused her to push her hands back through her