squeeze the trigger

Another day is over. You begin your long journey home. A few stops to fill your day. So you can tell yourself that work was not al that you did. Feel a little better. For a while. You meet your friends. The same six people you know. The six people you can stand to be with. Not with all of them at the same time though. You exchange pleasantries. You make conversation wondering all along if you can afford to get cable… afford to hire an air conditioner for the summer… the pretty little receptionist at work at her pert little behind… the idiot at work you feel like bludgeoning with a baseball bat… your friends talk at you and you pretend to listen and nod your head. You head on home after a couple of mugs of beer… you wanted whiskey but you settled for beer. You’ve forgotten to eat dinner but you can’t be bothered anymore. You head on home. You get into your 2 room apartment. The window was left open and the mosquitoes have taken over your living room. You curse and swat ineffectually. You open the refrigerator. Cold water goes down your throat and you feel better. You reach in your little haversack. You bought something today. The cold hard feel of steel is comfortable in your hand. Not too heavy but still a man’s gun the seller said and that is what this feels like. You heft it. You sit on the chair with the weak legs. You contemplate the gun. Your life has nothing left to contemplate over. You can hear a crow on your windowsill. Maybe you should try and listen to it. Maybe the crow will make sense. Nothing else seems to. You point the gun at your right ear. You change your mind. You stick it in your mouth instead. You remember what the seller said. Squeeze the trigger. Don’t press it. Squeeze the trigger. You remember how easy it was to get the gun. You spent everything you had on it, but it was easy in the end. You squeeze the trigger. Slowly. You know that you might change your mind any second. You even hope that you do. You debate the concept of free will in a brief moment in your head. You squeeze the trigger… the sweat from your forehead runs \down to your eyes. Maybe you should have a last cigarette. Maybe you should just end it here. Maybe you should wipe the sweat off your forehead. Maybe you should just pull the trigger. Maybe you don’t want to… the weak leg gives way… you stumble… you press the trigger. A single shot. A bullet in your head… you fall back on the floor and the chair hits the ground a split second later. A bullet in the head. Your brains on the wall.