Chapter 1: Death (suicide warning)

He looked down at the Colt M1911 in his hand, chambered with 45 ACP hollow point. His hand trembled slightly; he was unsure. His gaze unfocused, lost in thought. Had it really come to this? All that effort in grades and school and relationships and learning and life and everything else, and he was going to end it, make his effort null? But there was no way forward, not one he could see. He was just so tired. He tried, he tried with all he could, and nothing worked. He did everything he could, followed all the advice, and yet, here he sat. On his bed, holding a pistol with but a single bullet. The receipts on his bedside table. And here he sits.

He inhaled a shaky breath. He looked at his palm, scarred and calloused. Would anyone mourn him? He did not know. He had no family. The last time he had a real conversation with someone was over a year ago. His mind wandered back onto the life he lived. School. More School. Then the Army, a mistake he sees now. He had seen the world falling apart at the seams and thought the army would grant him the skills to survive. And it did, and he was good at it. He was never good at keeping relationships though. That had eluded him since he was in kindergarten, and that never changed. He got better at pretending though, that is a fact. So good a pretending he deluded himself. And here he sits.

He breathed in deeply and sighed out a long breath. He took the pistol off safety. He inhaled through his nose, held it, and breathed out. He looked down at his hand, holding the weapon he meant to take his life. He closed his eyes, wondering what could have been. If he was able to communicate. If people cared. If he chose an easier path. Hopefully, he would soon find out. He smiled at the thought. Another breath, another sigh.

The last thing he remembers was the sound of the gun going off, and then peaceful darkness.