“Life is worth living.”
“You are beautiful.”
“You are strong.”
I’ve heard it all. I’ve lived this life and I’ve seen it all. I sit in this room, surrounded by darkness, with the street lamp lights daringly flashing into my room. In my hand is an item softer than any pillow – a 9mm handgun.
“Should I… or shouldn’t I? What’s the point of living… Why… why should I stay here?”
And like a damned river from Hell, the terrible memories of every haunting image come flooding through my mind – the leathery whip from my father’s hand, my mother’s verbal abuse, and the constant rejection of almost every friendship and relationship.
“Hey, Martin… let me check out those shoes. Oh, you don’t want to give them to me? Well, how about I beat you bloody and just take ’em, wimp!”
Yes… life is pathetic. Life is pointless.
“Raise the gun…” I whisper to myself, my voice my only comforting noise. “Go… to a place with no more pain. No more…”
And with the barrel against my skin, I feel the warm comfort of the cold gun and I close my eyes with a peaceful smile.
That’s when he appears: My only friend.
“Hey, man! Wanna share lunch today?”
“Hey, Martin! Wanna hang today?”
“I can’t believe a new Pokemon game is coming out! Cool, huh?”
And I drop the gun again for the third time in a row.
“Dear God…” Tears slither down my face like snakes from Eden. “Help me…”