Balanced on the line, he told her again, "Put it down!"
She couldn't move even if she had wanted to, the butt of the gun felt slippery in her clammy hands but she refused to reliquish her hold on it. The line was a mere streak in the dust, but the signifance of that line, oh the significance that it held. It held the entire future, hers and his, the future of nations.
"Put it down, and step toward me."
"Back off!" She shouted, readjusting her grip on the gun and aiming it squarely at his chest.
"Just step over the line! We can help you." He shouted back at her, glancing to the side where moving shapes signalled back up troops.
"No one can help me anymore," she whispered frantically, looking over to the sides. "I'm sorry," she twisted the muzzle of the gun suddenly and pressed it beneath her jaw, pulling the trigger twice and letting the bullets rip through her brain.
She finally crossed that dust line, fell towards the man who could have helped her, her blood pooling towards his feet.