The light illuminated my kitchen, which danced across appliances, cabinets, and the table I was sitting at. The rest of my one-man flat apartment was hidden in the shadows. There was an old AC unit perched in the window that had been working overtime. Its hum filled the void: a sad, whirring melody that sang in a duet with my refrigerator, which was as ancient as the air conditioner. I sat at the table, my fingers trembling from anxiety, or excitement. Or both. I sparked the Bic lighter and brought it to my lips where it met the cigarette that hung askew. The pungent taste of Turkish tobacco filled my dry mouth and nostrils, and put me at ease for a fleeting moment.
I was thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.
There was a bottle of Jack Daniels that stood in partnership with a glass that my wife- or late wife, rather- bought me during our vacation in Nashville. We weren’t the wealthy type, and could never spare the time nor money to go on lavish vacations to exotic islands like all my friends boasted about on Facebook. We could barely afford to travel out of state, so Nashville was a rare treat. Too bad the city was a let down, as were many things in my life. The glass had a cheery blue font of I HEART NASHVILLE stamped on it. It had been filled many times with whatever helped me forget about how shitty my life was at the time and in the moment. That reminded me, it needed another fill. I poured the bourbon into the souvenir glass and knocked it back. I didn’t feel anything as it went down my gullet, for this was my seventh or eighth shot of the night.
And the night was still young.
I was alone in my apartment. The only sound came from the drip-drip of my leaky faucet. I had been meaning to get that thing fixed for weeks now, but I didn’t care at this point.
Beyond the bottle of bourbon lay a six-chamber revolver. I dragged it towards me, its sleek body glided effortlessly across the table despite the numerous notches that pock-marked its surface, much like the craters of the moon that hung unfazed outside my kitchen window. The moon would be my only witness tonight. I had been planning this ordeal for some time now. I had purchased the revolver many moons ago, but as my life slipped down the gutter, my mind turned to the revolver, which until tonight had been concealed in a safe.
I loaded a single bullet into the 12-o’clock chamber. I raised the barrel to my temporal lobe and closed my eyes. I squeezed the trigger.
I was met with a resounding click that bounced around in my head and disappeared. I put the gun back on the table and hurriedly poured another drink and gulped it down. My blood vessels were pounding from the adrenaline that was being dumped into them. Before I pulled the trigger, I had felt nothing. Or maybe I had, my mind just didn’t pick up on it.
With trembling hands, I lit another cigarette and smoked it.
That was only the warm-up.
My misery began many years ago. It seemed like a lifetime since those brighter, warmer days. It’s been a slow trudge uphill since then.
I used to work as an engineer for a big-shot company. The money was good and I enjoyed my job. I had my whole life planned out: a secure job with great benefits. I was cruising to an early retirement. Life, however, had a different plan for me. It’s funny how one small change can result in a disastrous domino effect that topples everything you’ve worked so hard to build up.
My company started making cuts. When the HR representative ambled into the room I didn’t even give him a second look. Why would I? I was always early to work, I finished my projects with time to spare, I even went above and beyond my boss’s expectations. A spell of disbelief was cast over me when the representative called me into his office and dropped the bomb on me.
“You’re being let go. Your office is to be cleaned out by the end of the week. I’m sorry.”
Those words echoed in my head for weeks. I was left in a daze. My head was spinning as I packed up. None of my coworkers even wished me good-bye.
I wasn’t particularly popular at the office. I usually kept to myself as I hid in my cubicle and busily finished my work for the week. I had other things going on in my life that held my attention. I wasn’t one to aimlessly chit-chat at the water bubbler. I closed myself off to the rest of them, which was why I was easy to let go. I wouldn’t be missed.
I felt like I was in one of those cartoons where the storm cloud followed me everywhere I went. Depression swallowed me, leaving a trail of rain and sorrow.
I loaded another bullet into the chamber, this time the 3-o’clock one. In the same movements I squeezed the trigger as the barrel rested against my temple.
Click.
I smoked another cigarette and continued to reflect on my life.
I used to be a heavy smoker back in the day. Things changed when my daughter was born and my late wife made me promise to lay off the smokes. I did it for my daughter. I loved her dearly. When I was let go from my job, she was my first thought. How was I going to pay for her treatment?
My daughter loved to run around when she was a kid. She was playful, energetic- you know- the usual kid stuff. My late wife and I were devastated when she slipped and tumbled down fourteen steps. She suffered injuries to her spinal cord, resulting in an incomplete loss of motor function in her legs. I endured many nights in the ER. She had to be put in a wheelchair. After consultation from many professionals, I was faced with a huge financial burden. The medical bills were steep, but with my job, it was manageable. Retirement would be set back a few years, so what? Life went on, and I supported my daughter the whole way.
When I was let go, we quickly plummeted into debt. Our secure life quickly dissipated as we started scrounging for money. I skipped many meals after that, unbeknownst to my family. I started to lose weight. We had to move into a smaller house, which we soon had to mortgage. The only thing that pulled me through was my daughter and wife, and that only last so long.
A bullet went into the next chamber. I was suddenly aware of the sweat stain that had formed on the undershirt I was wearing. I shivered.
Click.
It felt like I was somehow becoming more sober. My life had come to this. I had been forced up against a wall, and my will to fight was gone. My life was in the hands of some higher power. If I survived the night… oh, what was the point? The world would only continue shitting on me.
I had been alone for quite some time now. My late wife, who was alive and well, had been unfaithful to me. I caught her in bed with some man she had met on a dating site. Of course, I was the one to blame. It was my fault that things had turned out this way. We were broke and only further burrowing into debt. It was my fault that she was lonely and needed a change in her life, that change being someone other than me in between her legs. She took everything, including my precious daughter, and left me with nothing. I had to move out of my home and into this dump. I never saw this coming. I guess I was wallowing in self-pity and she didn’t want to be there for me, even though we had a spotless marriage. It’s funny how quickly things change, and before you know it, you’re standing in a ten-foot hole that you can’t find your way out of. Even though she had been cruel to me during the divorce, I still missed her terribly. I thought about her frequently, and checked her social media, wishing that the new man she was posting pictures with was me instead. Her smile looked genuine and happy. It broke me.
Before I could talk myself out of it I separated another bullet from its brothers and loaded it into the chamber. I locked and spun the chamber and pulled back the hammer. I raised the barrel to my temple and closed my eyes.
The image of my wife and daughter burned on the back of my eyelids. If I don’t make it through this, please tell my wife that despite what had happened between us, I still loved her more than life itself, and to kiss our daughter for me.
Submitted July 14, 2017 at 03:29PM by ZedBelinsky http://ift.tt/2tm2RG8 nosleep
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