Imagine being given the choice of how you are going…
‘Anton, what are you doing?’ she asked in a hushed tone trying to defuse the situation.
‘This is your fault,’ he taunted, waving the gun randomly in the air, clicking the safety catch on and off continually.
‘Why do you always make me angry? Are you scared? You look scared; well don’t be, the gun is to kill myself, not you.’
If only I had that in writing, she thought to herself, petrified that he would change his mind as he brandished the gun in her direction. ‘I didn’t intend to annoy you but you accuse me of things, scream and shout and just expect me not to react.’