A Night

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.