Sample of a work in progress. Will be posting updates to this and other works shortly. Hope you enjoy.
There’s something about holding a gun to your head that puts life into perspective. Call it a moment of clarity. You don’t hear all the noise when there’s only immediacy. There’s a weird zen type of calmness that comes with a binary situation.
Two options, nothing else.
Live or die.
I know, it’s supposed to terrify me, but it has the opposite effect. I feel relaxed.
I feel in control.
I’ve hedged my bet. I suppose that makes this slightly inauthentic. I’m going to pull the trigger, make no mistake, and if the .357 magnum fires the stain left on the wall will put even Pollock’s most frenzied works to shame. Despite this, the odds of me dying are fairly low.
16.6% to be exact.
Well not exact, the 6 repeats, but you get the idea.
I’d put one bullet in the six shooter’s chamber, spun it, clicked it into place, and pressed the cool barrel of the gun against the side of my temple.
Like I said, it’s calming.
The reassuring touch of a dear friend.
Supportive. Caring. Nonjudgemental.
And what’s there to fear, really? If the gun goes off and I’m erased, it’s just a proactive measure, isn’t it?
An expedited process.
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I’m at a crossroads. If I live through this there is something more. Something that will make my life meaningful. It’s the grand plan I dedicated myself to. It’s my only chance, really. The only way to make my life into something more than the wasted twenty four years it’s been.
If your life was a book, would anyone read it?
I find myself asking this often.
Okay, that’s enough stalling. You know, the type of self-distracting talk you do in order to avoid going through with something you know you have to? I’m wasting the precious little time I might have.
Spoiler Alert: I’m going to die.
More specifically, I’m going to be dead by the end of this book. So if you’re not into that sort of thing, the whole “brooding anti-hero with an assortment of complexes bringing on his own demise,” you should probably pick up something else. Something more worthwhile or uplifting, you know? One of those harrowing tales where the main character overcomes adversity, meets his potential, and ends up with the love of his life. These type of books give you the payoff you’ve been waiting for all along.
Spoiler Alert: This isn’t one of those.
Oh shit, I’m stalling again.
I sigh, pulling myself from my thoughts, and look out my bedroom window. It’s cold outside. Not the bone chilling type of cold, but the soothing type that makes your skin tingle and reminds you that you’re alive. The slight gust of wind through my window is almost what does it. Not the memories of family or friends, no, a random breeze is what almost halts my finger from doing what it knows it must.
What does that say about me?
I stare at the moon, looking back with an apathetic glow, and I wonder if there’s more.
I pull the trigger.