The Gun

Every morning I wake up feeling like a truck has been running all over me. A sensation one cannot put into words. It’s not so much a physical sensation, it’s beyond that. It is very spiritual or perhaps metaphysical. As if the sky had collapsed on top of me with the entire weight of the universe in an attempt to crush me into oblivion. And these are the nights I manage to stay asleep for more than two hours straight.

I cannot stay put during many nights, either due to sheer inability to fall asleep because I mentally eat myself alive on repeat inside of my own head for no reason whatsoever or because a bizarre cocktail of dreams and memories form in my sleep, forcing me awake.

The first thing I see whenever I get out of bed is just how red my hands are. They are always and for all eternity coated in a shade of red. No matter what I do, the red won’t come off. No amount of washing and scrubbing takes that red off. On hot days, I can tell my sweat smells like rot and death too. Every morning I curse my own existence.

I cannot blame anyone but myself for these circumstances. However, it was my own choice to work as an executioner my entire adult life. The jobs pay, and you’ve to put bread on the table. Two-legged swine, four-legged swine; we all die the same. It stopped mattering a long time ago what kind of neck meets the edge of my blade. I went from one slaughterhouse to the next, knowing all too well what awaits me there.

Everything I have to endure through is my own fault, and since I am not doing anything to change that, who am I to complain? The bloated, decaying creature in the mirror that’s missing half of its skull already does a wonderful job of reminding me just how awful and worthless I am. Every morning when I go to wash my face, I am greeted by this monster that reminds me of my existence being a mistake. Screaming at me; telling me, I am nothing but an abomination that needs to be wiped out from the face of the earth.

Every day, I agree with the vile creature in the mirror and end up storming back to the cabinet in my bedroom. Out of which I pull out my gun and shove it in my mouth as I drop onto my knees and contemplate actually pulling the trigger.

The intoxicating stench of perdition burns my nostrils as I tighten my teeth around the barrel, hands shaking and mind storming inside of my skull. Usually, the animal mind prevails in the name of self-preservation, and I forgo the plan to put the world out of the misery of my being.

I carry on with my days without passion or drive, on a mere autopilot. Attempting my best to keep the gates of madness shut, but everyone knows I am not right in the head. They won’t say anything, but I can see it in their eyes. The hatred and disgust burning bright in the eyes of so-called friends and colleagues who are only around to make a profit out of my presence. The sheer disappointment cut through the souls of my parents. Even my wife sometimes drops the mask of love she dons for me. I know by now that she is with me only out of pity. I am a monster and there is no way someone could ever love me…

Not too long ago, the creature in the mirror actually won. It had gotten its wish. It made me drink again. I became completely powerless on a stormy night, all alone, tormented by my own self-deprecating thoughts. The whispering and the shouting of the beast had finally gotten to me. I was done for. I couldn’t endure the constant nagging and clawing at the mental walls any further. Storming into my bedroom, I found myself shivering in fear when a thunder bold clapped overhead.

The screaming had gotten louder and wilder, almost animalistic, roaring and screeching. I scrambled for my gun and hastily shoved it in my mouth again. Removing the lid and turning off the safety, the intoxicating stench of the sweet poison filled my nostrils, burning them pleasantly. I pulled the trigger and bang!

The hot poison flowed freely down my throat.

It wasn’t enough.

I drank more.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

The voices were only getting louder.

And shot, and another and another and another.

Once I unloaded the entire magazine into my mouth and nothing happened, I loaded another one into the gun and fired more and more poison into my system. Then again and again, after unloading all the ammunition I had had in my possession, and the voices seem to die down, finally, some peace. My body ached and my vision started clouding. Everything spun so quickly it became dull and blurry. Before long, I was standing face to face with the mirror, with the creature in the mirror that forced me to use the gun again.

It was laughing, the whole universe was laughing. Everything was laughing. I was caught up in the middle of a singularity of mockery and sadistic laughter. Every last particle in existence and quantum possibility was mocking my pitiful being. The poisonous lead inside of me caught fire. My anger at the thing in the mirror fueled the murderous flames inside my stomach. Barely able to keep myself upright, I charged at the mirror as the floor and the ceiling traded places. Left and right spined in reverse while everything else seemed to stand still. Even time seemed to slow down as I was on a stellar collision path with the creature that ridiculed me and tortured me for so long.

Once I finally collided with myself, everything stopped and turned black for a millisecond before a cacophony of impossibly alien colors exploded in all directions, filling the void in which once was time-space but now whirled the void antimatter. The alien rainbow burned brightly for what seemed like a moment, frozen in all eternity. Blinding, deafening and paralyzing me before the universe once more returned to its state of unbirth in the cold void of nothingness.

Eventually, I regained my senses at the ER. I had alcohol poisoning that had nearly killed me. I’ve drunk a cabinet full of alcohol my wife and I were collecting for years in one very short sitting. I riddled myself with a rain of bullets and yet missed every vital organ. My wife found me lying on the floor, in a pull of my own blood and shattered glass.

Now every time I look in the mirror. The creature looks a lot more like my reflection with that massive cut I gave myself across the left cheek when I head butted the bathroom mirror in a drunk rage filled attempt to murder the demon in my head. Unfortunately, it’s immortal and will live as long as I do.