This is not part of the mini-series so please don’t be confused
Flash Fiction #11 is here!
How much can the alcohol cloud it? Numb it? Chase it away? Kill it? I know there’s something that needs to be killed. Vanquished. I can feel it within my mind as I pound my fist against my temple, the pain growing distant and my eyesight growing fuzzy at the edges. What is it that drives me to this? To the wanton yearning of a tortured soul, masked by a grey blanket of pain, sorrow and pure hatred? What is it? Can someone tell me, please! I’m lost. No, maybe not. I’m clear-headed of course – I know what to do.
There it is, on the table, shining in the moonlight – it’s like a beacon of hope to me. However, for some, it’s the final nail. The room is but a cavern, much like my own mind, where the evil winged bringers of sorrow hang teasingly above my head, in the rafters, in the shadows of my own criminality and unjust feelings. The bourbon is like a tonic, an elixir that cleanses my very soul of its corruption, its fractures and its deep, self-inflicted scars. There is always an option… come on, now. Do you want this? Seriously?
Another full tumbler of soothing, smoky fire-water gives me something to cling on to. What it is is anybody’s guess, but it’s something tangible for my essence to wrap its shallow fingers around, warming it from a deathly-looking pale to a barely human pink. It suddenly slips away from me; a glimmer of humanity that I have sealed the fate of. Why? Who knows why? Who cares… why?! Why this? Why that? Why anything? That’s all I damn well hear from the crowds – why would you do it? Do you want an answer? I don’t have one for you…
My hand rests on the handle of the .45 before my fingers slip into position, ready to take the responsibility of justice onto its shoulders. Forget the tumbler, this time, it’s the entire bottle that needs to lubricate my mind; my resolve. With such a clear night sky it should make my journey to heaven quicker. Heaven? You kidding? You won’t be going to the pearly gates at all, my friend. Look at yourself! To hell with you and everything you’ve done.
Hell? Ha ha! I’m already there, the burning gaze of Satan following my every movement; his trident ready to thrust my despairs into the open. I face my fears no more, not in the real world – the real world is full of politicians, ex wives, lost relatives, war, disease and all the rest of it. I don’t want that. The mouth of the gun is cold against my head, much like the feelings inside me; icy and inert. The phone rings suddenly. I ignore it. Through the moment’s hesitation I hear the answer machine click in. The beginning of the message is just a loud, echoing blast – this is what has to be done.
A tear of finality trickles down my face as amidst of the darkness I hear a voice – ‘It’s me… I forgive you’.