I fall to the floor

I fall to the floor. My body is a mess of flesh as my gut brushes the ground. The glass of my spectacles is cold against my cheek. My left eyepiece fogs up as my breath starts to increase. I feel my heartbeat moving my body as I lay upon the ground. The course carpet is felt against my arm as it is contorted into lying beneath my stomach and crossing to my other side.

I laugh.

My body is guided by my breath. Up and down, up and down. My eyeline is filled with the floor as I spot specs of dirt and nothing more. I feel lost. I can barely breathe out of my nose due to its state of being buried in the carpet. I try to rise, but my body won’t let me. I feel as if a thousand weights lie on my back. I hear the tick of the clock on my wall.

Tick, tick.

I hate that fucking clock. My hair tickles my nose and I am forced to gather my strength.

Tick.

I try once again to fight gravity.

Thud.

Gravity wins.

Tick.

My face is now in a new direction. I feel every breath I take as I lie on my stomach.

Tick.

My neck is hurting, and my face is starting to itch as it feels every fiber of the carpet.

Tick.

I spot something as my focus shifts to the shotgun on the wall of my room.

Tick.

I drag myself over to the wall.

Tick.

My chest is bombarded with the rough fibers of the carpet.

Tick.

I use my leg to hit the wall as hard as I can.

Tick.

Gravity is victorious, the shotgun falls from the wall onto my foot. I don’t feel the pain. I rotate my body and use my hand to grab the gun. I stand it up on its butt and try to hoist my body into a standing position.

Tick.

The shotgun loses its balance and I fall to the ground. Tick. As I fall my glasses fly to parts unknown.

Tick.

I am once again on the

ground mocked by gravity and that fucking clock. Tick, tick, tick.

Fuck that clock.

I gather my energy again and push the gun into a vertical state so that the butt of the gun is forced into the ground. I lift myself with the little strength I have left and stay keenly aware of my balance. I rise to my knees.

Fuck you gravity, I’ve got to my knees.

The muscles in my shoulders contort in ways I have never experienced. My hands grasp the barrel of the gun like my life depends on it. The cold barrel digs into my palms making a mockery of the once soft hands I had. I lift myself up enough to swing my legs around and land on my butt. This is where I’ll stay for now.

Tick.

That fucking clock. My back is against the foot of my bed as I catch my breath, I need to take care of this goddamn clock. I pull back the forearm and aim for the clock in front of me.

BLAM.

A bright light warms my face. My ears ring and smoke fills my room as my eyes adjust, I see the new hole in my wall.

Tick.

I missed.

Tick.

The clock reminds me of my failure.

Tick.

I am so tired of this shit, of everything, not just the clock.

I find my hands pulling the forearm back once again. It’s really happening.

Tick.

My unconscious mind takes over my body and does what it wants.

Tick

I know my arms and hands are no longer my own and accept it.

Tick

I feel my mind start to wonder if anyone will miss me.

Tick

I start to think of all those that I have wronged.

Tick

I hear the sound of the forearm loading the gun.

Tick

I know now what I must do to leave this world.

Tick

I am ready to welcome death in my own way.

Tick

I was born alone; I will die alone.

Tick

I start to turn the shotgun around.

Tick

I don’t care anymore, no one will.

Tick

I can’t control much, no one can.

Tick

I have been abandoned by love.

Tick

I now stare down the barrel.

Tick

I have been failed by love.

Tick

I reach for the trigger.

Tick

I am ready for the end.

Tick

I am ready to be done.

Tick

I am ready for death.

Tick

I take a breath.

Tick

I am done.

Tick

Bye

Tick

Click.

The fucking gun wasn’t loaded.