Everything
about this was wrong, but he knew that this was the only way find some sort of
happiness. Kyle considered himself a sane man by normal standards so it was
almost impossible for him to accept the predicament he had put himself in. Things
should not have gone this way, being a recent college graduate with a good
entry level job is supposed to be the dream, how did things spiral so quickly?
Kyle looks around the room he was in and for the first time since he had moved
in he noticed how small it was. It was a tiny one bedroom apartment in one of
those many small towns along the coast of California that no one cares about. The
location was good and the townsfolk were friendly, so why did the apartment
suddenly seem so inadequate?
Nothing
was making sense as Kyle examined every detail of his bedroom. The wall was
plastered with posters of famous musicians and iconic comic book covers. The
dresser next to the bed had pictures on it that were somehow relevant to him
(at this point in time it was hard to remember why). There were photos of his
parents, him in his cap in gown in front of his university’s main library, and
childhood friends who weren’t exactly children anymore. He then looked to a
bookshelf in the corner of his room. It was his personal bookshelf that he
brought all the way from his home in New York because he just could not imagine
his books being on anything else. He never really considered himself a
sentimental person, but as he kept looking at his room all he could see were
pieces of a broken past that he was trying to hold onto. It had only been a
year since he moved here but already things had changed so much. Half of the
room, which in reality was more like half the apartment itself, was missing. A shared
space by two seemed to be so perfect but now that he was here alone it was just
suffocating. All the good times had and all the arguments fought were getting
mixed up as he was forced to sit in the painful hurricane the memories made.
Things had gone from full, to half-empty, to completely barren, all before Kyle
had time to fix his mistakes and possibly save something…possibly save
everything.
Finally
he looked at his computer desk, his favorite place in the room (it used to be
the bed but now he rarely sleeps there). He remembered how long it took to
finally win the argument that his computer belonged as close to him as
possible. It almost ended up in the living room, but they both came to a
consensus that the TV fit better in there. On his desk were little trophies of
dumb high school accomplishments along with an assortment of knick knacks that
he had gathered over his 20 something years of life. They had a particular
shine to them when the sunlight from the window next to the bed hit them at the
right angle, but there had been no sunlight in that room for what seems like an
eternity. His gaze at last went to his hands and he remembered what he had been
holding for the last two hours: the revolver that he got from his father as a
graduation gift. His family was not a violent family, nor were they hunters,
but his father refused to let him go across the country to some hippie-dippie
state without protection. Kyle recalled how awkward a moment it was when his
father told him not to “accidently shoot himself”.
So
why was he holding it again? It seemed like another lifetime ago when he had
the idea. He read somewhere online that those who are depressed should just
“suck it up and appreciate being alive more”, and if they are really so
defeated they should lock themselves in a room with a gun with one bullet for a
night and decided how strong their will to live is. Is that what he was doing?
That seemed that such an idiotic idea in retrospect. Yet here he was: revolver
in hand, one bullet in the chamber, and no good reason not to pull the trigger.
His mind was racing, trying to hold onto something worth the agony of being
without, but he was drawing blanks. He did not want to die, his body made that
perfectly clear, but at the same time it seemed like he was not strong enough
to fight whatever possessed him to pick up that gun. He put the barrel to his
temple and waited...nothing happened. There was no life changing vision or
realization that everything will turn out okay, no happy endings, and no
foreseeable future. He expected tears to come from somewhere, he expected
someone to stop him, but no one came. No last minute texts, calls, or tweets. His
Facebook had been open this entire time, and he had not so much as received a
notification. He pulled back the hammer of the revolver and proceeded to put
his finger on the trigger. No more games and no more pain. Everything about
this was wrong, but at this point he was too numb to think about it anymore. He
looked blankly at his computer screen, not able to see his reflection because
the monitor was too bright, and prepared himself for a sweet relief.
He was slowly closing his eyes and saying his
goodbyes when he realized he had left no note. Kyle was surprised that he could
be so insensitive as to leave no parting message behind. With his final
solution still in hand he goes to type something as a status update when he
noticed it was his little sister’s birthday. How could he forget such a thing?
How long had he been sitting here? It was at this point he broke down and wept
harder than he had his entire life. He dropped the gun and ran to the bathroom
to vomit. He emptied what seemed like his entire soul before passing out on his
bathroom floor. When he awoke he expected some big change but there was none.
His small apartment was still suffocating and the gun was still ready to be
fired, but there was something he missed. He had to call his sister today,
otherwise she would hate him forever. He had also promised that he would show
his friend around town the coming weekend because they had never been to the
area before. He had things to do. The pain was still there, the feeling of
nothingness was still present, but he had things to do. So he calmly put his
revolver back into its case and placed it on the top shelf in his closet,
where it shall sleep until it is called upon again. He opened his blinds
because it was too dark in the room to find his phone otherwise, and proceeds
to dial his sister’s phone.
In
a passing thought he noticed that the sunlight coming through his window had
never felt so strong.
