You sit at your father’s study desk. You use his keys to unlock the top center drawer, looking for something, and finding it. It feels heavy. You set it on the desk, your mind a little numb.
You stare at your father’s handgun.
You take it and examine it carefully. The six-shooter was fully-loaded, well oiled, and definitely crying out for some action. You grip the handle firmly with your hand and point its nose at your right temple, pointer finger lodged on the trigger.
This is it, you think. There’s really not much point in living anymore without her. You just can’t stand the pain. Just too much of it.
As you hold the trigger, you think of her. Alicia.
---
You met her during her school orientation, she a freshman, you a sophomore “volunteer coordinator” for the event. From the very start, the two of you hit it off. After a few weeks of busy courtship, the two of you became an item. You think back and recall the endless phone conversations the two of you had. The leisurely walks in the park. The stolen kisses in the dark. The awkward exploration of your bodies. The first time you made love.
“Oh God,” you cry out softly, snapping back to the present. Your trigger finger trembles uncontrollably. It had been a perfect time. A time now lost. What’s the point in living if it’s a life without her?
So this is how your life is going to end, you muse. Body slumped over your father’s desk, blood pool on the obviously fake Persian carpet. You’re not overly concerned about going to Hell. Or Heaven, for that matter. As far as you’re concerned, God doesn’t exist and when a person dies, he simply ceases to exist. The existential bullshit the world has churned out over the ages is simply that: BULLSHIT. God was simply a product of man’s inability to come to terms with his own purposeless existence.
“Ha-ha,” you laugh, despite yourself. How very YOU to philosophize, while about to commit suicide. How better it would be if you simply stopped to exist. No more tears. No more pain. No more Alicia.
And no more Chad.
It came as a shock to you when Alicia told you about Chad. Apparently, she had been seeing him behind your back a few months before her confession. You remember her crying. It just happened, she said. I never meant to hurt you, she said. Lies. All lies. All BULLSHIT.
Are they together this very moment? At this very point in time, as you go through the prelude of taking your own life, are they in his god damn pad, on his semen-stained bed, fucking each other’s brains out?
Rage fills your entire being. As you press the single-action revolver on your right temple, you suddenly have an epiphany. And, like all epiphanies, it comes to you with such power that it leaves you a little off. A little unhinged.
Yes, you’ve accepted that tonight, you’re going to die. This has a calming effect on you, as you feel the anger rapidly subsiding, replaced by an awareness of a cold mind. Calculating.
Of course, you don’t have to kill yourself right this very moment, you think. Maybe you can have a little fun before the end comes? After all, you still had things to do.
And scores to settle.
---
The condominium is a new one, barely occupied. You ring the doorbell of Chad's unit. You weren’t sure if he knew you by face, but assumed that he did. You really didn’t have a plan, but you were sure you could blast the door open with your gun. In any case, it didn’t matter. The door was already open, and you hear loud heavy metal blasting from a pretty awesome sound system. You go in quickly, then lock the door.
“Alicia, baby, you can’t bring all your books here. Be reasonable. This apartment has little space as it is.”
You smirk as you recall your own arguments with your bitch of an ex-girlfriend.
“Yes, yes. I know. I know. No. Come on, babe, don’t be so stubborn. I have most of the boxes here. There’s two left in the car. I promise. By the time you get here, everything will be in order. Okay. Love you too. Bye.”
You take that as your cue, and rush to him.
“Hello, Chad,” you say as you point your gun towards his left knee. You see the surprised look on his face and couldn’t resist pulling the trigger. You hear a loud BANG and see Chad go down. He screams loudly, wailing like an unattended baby. Very unmanly, you think. You decide that it’s time you two had a chat.
“Nice place you got here, Chaddy-boy,” you shout, competing with the loud surround-sound music. Chaddy-boy. Pretty funny. Sometimes you can be so witty, you think.
“I bet the girls really like it here. The quintessential bachelor's pad. How many have you brought up here, huh? How many screamed as you fucked them in the ass, huh? Alicia screamed too, I’ll bet. She likes that, you know. She likes to scream. I’m sure you know that too. Fucking prick!”
You hit his face with the gun. You hear his jaw breaking. God, what a god damn satisfying sound, you think.
Chad was losing a lot of blood. He was on the floor, moaning and whining. It seemed as if he was begging you to spare his life, but with his cracked jaw, he was too incoherent for you to understand.
“Look at you, man,” you say. “So fucking pathetic. I can’t believe Alicia left me for you.”
Chad crawls over to you, gripping your leg. He was definitely begging. Christ, you think. What a loser.
You point your gun at the top of his head, as you whisper, “Don’t worry, buddy. Your bitch of a girlfriend is gonna be next.”
You squeeze the trigger tightly. The BANG gets lost amidst the ear-shattering music of heavy metal rock.
---
You hear the sound of keys rattling. Alicia. She was here and it was about time. You had been sitting on Chad’s sofa for hours (you already turned the music off). You kept thinking that with Chad gone, maybe Alicia would come back to you. You weren’t even sure if you’d want her back if she wanted to. A guy’s got to have his pride, you think.
The door knob turns and in comes Alicia. “Chad, I’m home,” she says.
You don’t answer back. You wait for the sound of the door closing.
You’re struck with the smell of her perfume. My God. Memories of happier times flood your mind. Not now, you think. Be strong, you chastise yourself. A guy’s got to have his fucking pride, you repeat.
You hear the sound of a door close, then the muffled sound of running water. She’s in the bathroom. You imagine her wet and naked, and decide that you had to have her for one last time before this night is over.
You kick the bathroom door open. You see the look of surprise on her face, but only for a moment. She now looks at you furiously.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she screams. She takes her towel and quickly wraps it around herself.
“Don’t worry, babe. Nothing I haven't seen before,” you say, grinning.
She comes towards you, pushing you outside the bathroom. “Chad!” she calls out. “CHAD!”
She pushes you until you lose your balance and fall down. She continues calling out to her dead pathetic loser of a boyfriend. You decide to enlighten her as to why her “Chaddy-boy” (he-he) wasn't responding.
“I think I saw him in the bedroom,” you say with a smile.
Alicia looks at you suspiciously, with a touch of fear. Then off she went.
---
It took about seven seconds before she was screaming again. A different kind of scream this time. Deep and fearful, bordering on hysteria. You decide that you like it.
You go to her, tucking your gun down the back of your waist. You see her bent down on her knees, a few inches away from Chad’s limp and headless body.
“He was like that when I got here,” you say lamely. No way she was going to believe you, but you had to say something, right?
She barely hears you. She was still in a daze, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks.
You caress her long black hair, saying, “Shhhhh… It’s okay; it’s okay. I’m here, baby.” You start fondling her breasts.
She suddenly shrieks and stands up. Before you knew it, she slaps you hard on your face. You look at her, astounded by her affront. You grab her forcefully by the hair, then swing her towards the bed.
“Bitch,” you whisper, angry and aroused as she lay down helpless and crying on the mattress. You reach for your gun with your right hand as you climb on top of her, pressing her chest with your left. You wanted her badly. If only she could just stop fighting you and enjoy this like she used to.
She spits at your face. Her eyes focuses on you, defiant and daring. You get even more aroused by her spirit. You wanted to break it. You wanted to break her. But most of all, you wanted her to stop squirming. You aim your gun at her right foot. BANG. Let’s see how she continues to fight you with that, you think wryly.
It works, although her screams were now louder. She was clearly in pain, not that you care. Her shrieking annoys you, though. How the fuck can you rape her decently with all that screaming?
You begin to look for some cloth, a towel maybe. Anything to wrap around her mouth and muffle her up. Maybe you could tie her hands as well. You stand up and leave the bedroom, looking around the apartment.
You hear a window break. Fuck, you think. You hear another one, then another. The whole world was going to hear her now. You hear the sound of things crashing outside. Fuck. The people down on the street were sure to notice now. You had to shut her up. Permanently. You’re just gonna have to rape her when she’s dead.
You go to the room and see her on the phone. It looks (and sounds) to you that she had just finished stating the address to the operator. Smart bitch, you think. This angers you all the more. You aim your gun at the receiver. BANG. It breaks into pieces, along with half her right hand. There was blood all over now. Fucking gross, you think. Time to shut her up for good.
You hesitatingly aim for her chest. Oh well, you think. You probably didn’t have enough time to rape her anyway, so there was no need to keep her breasts in good condition. You suspect that the cops would be here very soon.
Suddenly, she lurches at you; her good left hand reaching for your gun while her bloodied right hand (three fingers left) scratched your face. You hear the loud BANG as your shot goes wild, smashing a window. This girl is just too much, you think. You press the nozzle of your gun on her stomach and pull the trigger.
BANG! Hot wet blood burst all over your shirt and pants. Chunks of what used to be body organs fall to the floor.
Then silence. You could get used to it, you think. No more shouting, no more screams. You feel lighter now. A sense of blissful peace.
You start recalling the things you did today. You killed Chad. That was immensely satisfying. Alicia Dearest was dead too, but you didn’t get to fuck her one last time; damn. Still, all in all, not bad for a day’s work.
Oh well, now it’s your turn. You better do this quickly. You hear the rush of footsteps. Probably cops.
You aim the gun in your mouth because you saw someone do it like that in a movie once. It didn’t really matter where you aim as long as it gets the job done, you think. You say a prayer to no being in particular, and slowly squeeze the trigger. Goodbye, fucked-up world.
CLICK.
You squeeze the trigger again. Must be some mistake.
CLICK again.
You hear the voices of several men shouting at you. You feel someone grab you. Someone else kicks you from behind and you fall, your body pressed down to the floor. Your nose touches the blood-soaked vinyl tiles.
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