He had a gun. Not a pistol or rifle, only a simple chamber, a bullet, and a trigger.
He carried it everywhere always concealed but fully loaded.
Every word they said was catalogued, stored in the recesses of his mind
Every accusing glance thrown at him felt like a thousand of bullets just like the one in his backpack.
It was he who had ignored her and let her wash away.
It was him who had left her to fight an army with a feather, throwing her to the wolves
That day was his fault...the looks on their faces said it all.
That day brought so much pain, so much...regret.
Click…
That chamber was empty...what a shame
That chamber could have brought such happiness
If only he had sat to listen to her stories rather than push her away
If only he had given his time and attention instead of taking from her
If only he had sang with her when she asked him to, or even danced to her song
If only...if only he had been there that night, she would still be here
Click…down he goes.
60 pills is a lot to take...they will never know that the chamber was emptied, every bullet was swallowed, and her absence was the trigger.
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