stupid story.

he was sick of everything. sick of waiting. sick of getting everything wrong. he knew what he had to do, hed gone over it in his head many times before, in the dead of night, when the illusion that day provides is over and when he would realize how meaningless his life really was.
he had failed one too many times. today had been the last straw. so he walked to his closet, opened a shoe box deep inside the sock drawer. in it was a pistol, a nice model, .38 calibre. a colt. "A beaute," the storeowner had said when he had bought it, "easy to fire and easy on the eyes too." It had a wooden handle, looked like one taken from an old black and white movie. He had no idea how he had been able to purchase it without an ID, but then again, in the dark neighborhoods nobodys ever too keen on laws. He never really thought he was going to use it, but had it there 'just in case'.
but today was the day he was finally going to do it. he would welcome the feeling of the sweet cold metal searing through the roof of his mouth, well into his skull. it would be quick, and painless. but if it wasnt, he would savor every motherfucking moment.
he was ready, had nothing to lose.
so he positioned the gun like he saw them do in the old black and white movies. beads of sweat caressed his forehead. why? he was ready to do this. the colt looked splendid in his hands and in his mouth. he was ready. but now his neck was moist. he pulled the trigger.


im tired of writing, i guess the guy died i dunno and i dont really care, stupid story, badly written, imagine whatever you want. bye.