First I lost my job, then I lost my wife, and then I lost my kids and that was about the time when I started to lose my mind and took the elevator that led underground to the 13th floor, also known as the floor of depravity.
It was there on the 13th floor that I became consumed with the all of the vices of the underground as I sank deeper into guilt and self loathing. I hated myself and everything about life so I made the decision to end it all. This decision to end my life wasn't an easy one, but I didn't feel that I had anything left to live for. Everything had been taken from me and I knew that none of it would ever return. My life had been eviscerated by the unknown mover of fate.
I had purchased a gun on the street, it was a used 9mm. With this cannon, after I pulled the trigger there would he nothing left of my head. I sat alone in the cellar of my apartment building and loaded the six bullets into the gun chamber, turned off the lights, sat down in a chair and stared into the darkness. It was is this seat that it was all going to end. I then contemplated how long it would take before they found my body. Someone would hear the gun shot in the building but would anybody care and take the time to call the police? How long would it take before somebody would realize I was missing? Probably forever because nobody even knew that I existed anymore. I could just see the news story now: Two kids exploring an abandoned building in the year 2121 and they find my skeleton remains. They would tell the police but the police wouldn't care and just chalk me up as another John Doe.
To hell with them and to hell with the rest of the world. I was more certain now than ever that I had made the right choice and put the gun to my head and sent the neurological pulse to my index finger to pull the trigger. It was in this split second that I knew I had made a mistake and everything flashed before me, but the gun didn't go off.
Life was going to be different now. I would get a job and take night classes and rise to the top again. There was still time in my life. I was only 48 years old. I could still make something of myself. I would go out to the singles clubs and start dating again. Yes, and then I would fall in love and get married and have more babies. I could imagine my new life better than my last. It must have been fate that gave me a second chance in life. Yes, I would start all over again, tip toeing through the tulips with the sky raining pink lemonade and all that crap.
But this reverie was all in my head. My life and what it could have been flashed for only a millisecond in my brain.
My finger finished pulling the trigger and the gun went off. Splattering my brains all over the wall.