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.
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.
Even if it be on tattered wings.