The Close

In a moment this year comes to a close, and a new one springs up in its place. My mind swims in memories and begins to drown beneath. I remember looking at the metal, the taste of it in my mouth, the smell of powder and oil. The metalic taste on my tongue and grinding against the roof of my mouth. It stands at the precipice, the one of choice and this is it. My memory plays it out with vivid details of it, reminding how my finger slightly squeezing the trigger to the resistance. Just a little more and this is all over. Just a little more and no more pain, sorrow, misery, regret, or trying. Just a little more, and…

    Tears sting my dry eyes, I gulp a heavy gulp with the tip of a gun in my mouth. They stream down my face, and the pain doesn’t stop. Face after face, let down after let down, abandonment, betrayals, and horror a plenty all dance around my eyes and mind. I don’t want to go on, I don’t want to continue this road. Why should I?

      A quick pull of tendons and the firing pin is sent to motion, and the bullet roars outward and explodes from the barrel with velocity and power. I can almost smell the barrel’s smoke. But I didn’t pull the trigger, I didn’t let the firing pin spring into action. Instead i pulled the gun out of my mouth and with pure abandonment of anything else I wept. I lay there on the floor now curled up and wishing the heavens would open up and God would finally smite me down. I wished that my heart would stop and the torment of my soul would begin. I wished for the end, I prayed for it. I begged. I tapped the gun against my forehead and wiped some of the tears away. I stood up and walked away. That memory is haunting me now, as I sit alone thinking over my mistakes, there is a small voice asking me “was that one of them?”

    I made mistakes that can never be paid. I made bad decisions and continue to do so. I wasn’t deserving of life, and in many ways still am not. However, the road continues. I am still here. I walked away, and continued the journey that I am on. A sojourn that is my burden of responsibility. I may not deserve life, I might suffer everyday through out, but this is the price I pay.

     I sit here alone and remembering. Why did I stop? Because I didn’t want to give up? No, because I believed that I deserve to suffer. Imagine living with yourself when you believe that, and there isn’t a soul around to tell you otherwise. For a long time I believed this. Sometimes, I still do. But as this year draws to close, I wonder, will this year be different? Will it hold a portion of happiness for a torn soul? Will I suffer something worse? Will it end this year? Honestly I don’t know, but when I wake tomorrow I have hope. However small and insignificant, it is my light in vast darkness, and that I cling to like a floating debris in the middle of the ocean.

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