The Shots Heard Round the World
I’ll back up. Not thinking too clear.
Sometimes, life hands us a bum deck of cards. Enemies who feed on their desire to destroy. People who believe them. The weight of it is a powerful load to carry. Every day. Through sleepless nights. The haze of drink and the ghouls of memory.
Wore me out.
I thought I could make it to the end of this particular journey. Finish it. But, I’m not even half way, and I’m done. Pulled that trigger but flinched at the last minute. Shot went wide instead of plowing through the center of my head.
I stayed that way for hours. Until I rolled over on my weapon. Forced my finger through the cool steel of the trigger. I heard the first part of the discharge, and then……..nothing. The world blurred and melted away. Perfect peace.
I know I stopped breathing. I am sure I’m dead. Can even see the hole they dug for me.
So, why am I still here? Writing in this confounded journal. Wandering the earth. Whole.
Hell for a suicide is being stuck in a place where I can never die.
This post is part of the series Death Becomes Me. It is a series of fiction. If this is your first visit to the series, please click here to read the first installment, go here for the second, go here for the third, click here for the fourth, go here for the fifth, click here for the sixth, go here for the seventh and click here for the eighth.