The End

“There has been twenty-five anti-depressant related suicides in the past month. Police say they are trying to figure out where the supply is coming from, but things seem to be getting worse. Ano…”

A young man turns off the TV. He is nineteen years old, thick black hair, pale white skin, dark brown eyes. He is sitting on a love seat. The lights are dimed down in his small two-bedroom apartment. The moon and stars shining from the window. The phone in the kitchen rings. He sighs, stands up and walks to the kitchen.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Hi, is this Owen?” A woman on the other end asks.

“Yes. I’m sorry, who is this?” Owen questions.

“It’s Sara. I was just wondering where you were. We were getting worried, with you not being at school for the past month, and soccer practice, is everything all right?” She speaks with a hopeful voice for an explanation, but to each their own Owen thinks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Look, I am sorry. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Owen hangs up the phone before she can respond. He angrily mumbles something beneath his breath and storms out.

Around the corner, there is a room with white walls, one light, one window, a seat and a desk resting in the center, back wall. On the desk, there is a tape recorder, headphones, microphone, gun and a holster. Owen walks in with the light off. He sits down as his mind wonders.

“Just one” he thinks, searching on and about the past. However, he sees nothing, no reason at all. Death is all that is left, all that surrounds him, and soon it will consume him. All life ends this way, so why must he live in pain? He starts recording.

“It’s my time.” He says, “My closest friends and family are dead, there’s nothing left… nothing at all.” He pauses as a tear rolls down his face. “Tell me this” he continues “If you own an animal that is suffering, is it not cruel to let it rest? To find peace in the grave?” A few more tears roll down his face. “Yet you let me live in this eternal pain?” He pulls the gun out of its holster and presses the barrel to his head. “Out of all the things I went through, I plead with you, find reason with my choice.”

A ringing echo is recording into the tape as the hammer clicks down and the brass shell of the bullet hits the floor with what one could only describe as shattering china. Owen now lies lifeless on the floor with complete balance of good and bad. That was it, that was the end.

Will anyone really care? How long will it take someone to find out he is dead? Who will be the first to find out? A friend, coworker, family member? No, the sick sad truth is worse than one could imagine. It will be the complex manager when he goes to evict him from the apartment in six months.



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