Sun Flyer


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I looked at the gun in my hand….

It was black and heavy.

It felt like a gun.

An object that wielded instant death with a ¼ oz trigger pull.

My gun is a dark travel agent with 6 one way tickets….Destination unknown, with a long layover in purgatory.

I was at the end of my rope, not the one with 13 knots, although I considered that route also.

I considered a neck tie around the ceiling fan, but I wasn’t doing this for shock value.

I didn’t want to hurt anybody else. I wasn’t angry at anyone.

I didn’t relish the fact that a child might find me whirling around beneath the fan as if though I were sitting on the edge of an evil merry-go-round. My eyes wide, my arms outstretched, my legs swinging, a silent scream on my blue tongue and white lips.

I don’t want to make nightmares, just quit living one.

But I was angry enough at myself to kill me.

There were pills on the small table beside me, and a bottle of vodka.

They were pills for what ailed you. To make you feel better.

I had almost decided to take the whole bottle to make SURE I was healed….and feel nothing.

I didn’t want to be found after 3 days, bloated and green.

I didn’t want to puke all over myself as I tried to fight my body, who was trying to save my life against my will.

I didn’t want to mess up my brother’s bed.

I thought about a nice hot bath, with a razor and hair-dryer.

But, I didn’t want to start a fire or mess up my sister’s tub.

I’m in a nice quiet hotel now. I only paid for one night.

“No luggage” the clerk had asked.

“Only a gun and pills” I thought.

“No…” I said. “I won’t be here long”

“Check out time is at 11 am” the clerk continued.

“At least until you hear the gunshot, I was hoping more like an hour from now” I thought.

“Thanks” I said.

You should be thankful they say, in all things.

Thanks for nothing…..

I didn’t feel thanks….I didn’t feel hope…I didn’t feel anything really.

Except for the gun in my hand….the barrel in my mouth.

The hardness of the barrel clicked against my teeth. My tongue drew back from the bore as if though it were hot.

But it wasn’t.

It was cold, so very…very cold.

I tasted the oil on the gun. I tasted the old cordite.

I stuck my tongue into the barrel, and wondered if it would hurt…

Ha! If it would hurt…I though you didn’t care anymore. I thought you just wanted out!

I could feel the gun trembling from excitement.

No…just my hand shaking.

The gun was all business. It knew its job….

I could see the hungry brass eyes of the hollow points staring at me.

“Let’s get on with this” they said to me.

I heard a commotion outside of the hotel window.

I laid the gun down on the table, knocking over the pills.

The taste of the gun oil made my lips dry.

I went to the window. I couldn’t blow my brains out with people right outside my room. The gunshot will scare them.

Maybe give them nightmares….

I couldn’t do that to strangers.

I looked out the window and saw a man removing luggage from a car. A woman had a child in her arms, swinging her around like a little top.Image

They were laughing.

They were breathless.

They were alive and standing less than 10’ from a man that lived to die.

They all began to do the dumbest, goofiest little dance just outside my window, singing badly “Going to Disney World!”

The man picked up the future Mousketeer and threw her high in the air.

She squealed as she disappeared into the sun.

The mother jumping with fear and delight that her baby could fly so high!

I had to laugh at them!

They were so silly….

I laughed some more….

The gun oil was no longer on my lips. The coldness of the barrel was gone.

There was only the taste of salty tears, and hope.

I flushed the bullets and the pills. I hid the gun in a trash bag like a dirty book.

I opened the door and looked at the shiny people dancing in the sun.

They didn’t notice me, their happiness a contagion.

I danced with them in my broken heart.

I too would try to fly once more I hoped.

I hoped….

Even if it be on tattered wings.

16 thoughts on “Sun Flyer”

      1. Oh ye of little patience. Be careful what you wish for. I do divorces in ‘Vegas with no compunctions at all.
        I thought ‘very nice’ was self explanatory. It is a wonderful piece. You have over 200 people to pat you on the back (or head). You are really high maintenance.

        I have been thinking about your writing, even when I am not looking at the computer (so there!). You could do a self-publish book like Charles, but either do two, or one with humor and serious sides. One way I thought would be cool to present the book would be do the them upside down from each other. Haven’t flushed out exactly what I think it would look like, and then if it would be interesting to me (the average reader). See, I am thinking of you when I don’t even have the computer on. Usually when I am sitting in the bathroom, but I think of you, no one else, except myself of course. Now don’t you feel special? K.
        I seriously can’t believe you would wait 2 hours just to see what some home bound chick in ‘Vegas would say. I am definitely not the most fanatical writer, so I am not sure how much stock should be put into my opinions.
        Always love your writing, serious or humorous.

        Peace & Love

      2. I depend on you and Scottishmomus to keep me straight. Y’all have been there for me practically from the start and given me awesome advice and fun. I like your wit but resemble the fact that I am high maintenance. I am narcissistic, there is a clear and definite difference!
        But…. I Relish your opinion and it means a lot. Thx

      3. You could put some of that relish into that potato salad and I am sure it would make all the difference in the world.
        You, my dear, are not really narcissistic. I think you just like typing the word. Your evil twin? Yes, he most likely is.
        You are honest and fun. Oh, and did I mention, friggin’ obsessed with your damn toes?
        On the vein thing: when you crash eventually, try and get your calf above your heart while laying down. This helps the blood flow easier and relieves some pressure off the veins. While you drive, all the pressure is to your feet, so raising your legs will help. I have had blood clots, real ugly and hospital going types, since 2003. This is what they told me to do from ‘Vegas to Alaska. When I was doing so much driving in Alaska for hunting, I was whisked to ER twice for blood clots in my calves. I just use a pillow, folded, under my calf and lay on my back.

        Peace & Love

      4. Well, the whole world knows that. Don’t you know everyone and their brother reads your comment section. No secrets in Word Pressia, especially when you are the ruler, king, the big boss.

  1. Sometimes it’s in the telling of stories like these when we are made to see how much of potential we carry within us and in the way we live our lives…and I mean all parts of it. I bet that family will never know the impact they had…that their very act saved a man from taking his own. It also tells me that hope is such an important thing to have…it doesn’t matter how small or how big, it doesn’t matter how bright or how dark our lives are at that moment..because hope’s light is beautiful and it gives us strength. And it takes one of great strength to acknowledge hope and give it a chance too.

  2. I’m with Rene, well, not literally, but I do agree that you are high maintenance. She’s loved you longer than I have, so it won’t go down as sweet.
    On one of the critique sites that I used to be part of, we critiqued all writing as if it were fiction. The benefit? We were critiquing the writing and not opening the boards up for soap opera conversation. Since you asked me to read this, I will assume the same position:>)
    Great flippin’ story! Your writing here (and other posts) reminds me of hard boiled detective stories, no matter their topic. Weird, I know. Maybe it’s the gritty way the detective/narrator talks, yet the reader knows, deep down, that the detective/narrator is a decent guy.
    You are great at pulling the reader in sentence by sentence. You only give us what we need; no more and no less. And you have a very unique voice.
    As with most of your work, you have a good/fair ending that allows your reader to ponder another mystery of life, often for the first time, if not, then, from your unique point of view. Your writing makes those in the know want to say, “Me too!,” even if they don’t say it.

    Of course, maybe you asked me to read this because you wanted to chit chat about the merits of various methods of suicide. In that case, I prefer gas. Whether car exhaust or propane, you just fall asleep, no mess no fuss.

    I sure hope you stay sober and alive and that you get some of this writing published and out into the world, which needs someone to speak what they know, but cannot say or write for themselves.
    Peace Out,
    Patti

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