Bill Curtis took care of everything he had to do for his friend Debra. It was exhausting but it needed to get done. He had dinner alone and then sat in his bed room looking out the window at the streetlight.
He didn't like being alone, or feeling alone, but nevertheless he was alone. He felt empty and insignificant. Later in his life when all his friends past away, when he lost his wife and his children moved to other states, he became lonely. Desperately lonely and Debra was the cure for that. Her massive heart attack ended that cure and he couldn't move on. In fact Bill Curtis did not want to move on.
The emotive crest of a man contemplating suicide came in cold moments. Curtis had a pistol on the dresser with only one bullet in the chamber. It was all he needed.
Before he open his mouth and places the pistol inside and takes the out, he made sure the letter to his children could be found in a place where it wouldn't get any blood on it.
He felt the brooding holding him tight and that too was exhausting. It just watered the depression and he felt it grow inside him.
He picked up the pistol and looked at for a moment. His eyes glazed, his jaw slacked, his body felt like a bag of cement weighing him down.
Just before a man could give up his life he had to ask God for forgiveness. If God was truly a forgiving entity he would have understood Curtis's need for an out. If not, fuck him.
Curtis couldn't close his eyes because his nerves were biting at him like mosquitoes. His stomach started to take on a life of its own. He held it tightly with his left hand as though he was experiencing digestive problems. Then he actually vomited.
Bill Curtis didn't even wipe his mouth as he placed the pistol in gently. Trying to get his mind back on track. At the critical moment he needed to tell himself that he was not sick, only sick of being alone and sick of hiding his depression. He'd only feel the relief after he pulled the trigger. That's what he tried to convince his mind to think. He needed that type of thought process.
Amazingly enough , his mind bought it. His mind accepted everything he was selling. He was able to close his eyes as he sat there and listened to ten seconds of silence.
© 2017 Frank Atanacio