"You are going to die alone." I have heard this a few times. I have never really understood it. As insults go it seems very benign. Mostly because death seemed so far away.
But, as I held the gun in my hand, I realized that if I died today, I would die alone.
The gun doesn't feel as heavy as people claim guns do. It feels cold, metallic and comforting. Although aren't guns supposedly plastic? I shelve this thought away for future reference.
I run through a few options in my head and settle on the forehead. Seems nice and central. I look into the muzzle to make sure there is nothing stopping the bullet's path. I hold the gun in both hands and settle my right thumb on the trigger. I hope to get a nice round circle entry wound that is hopefully pleasingly symmetrical.
I rest my head on the windowsill behind my bed and decide to keep my eyes open. My cheap Ikea clock is right in front of me on the wall opposite. Suddenly it strikes me that I should time the trigger pull to when the clock is at 3 am. It's only a minute's wait anyway. As the second hand ticks on, it dawns upon me that the clock is 5 minutes slow. So I give up on the timing and just go for it.
As I gently squeeze the trigger I remember that I don't have a gun. I have never had one.
But, as I held the gun in my hand, I realized that if I died today, I would die alone.
The gun doesn't feel as heavy as people claim guns do. It feels cold, metallic and comforting. Although aren't guns supposedly plastic? I shelve this thought away for future reference.
I run through a few options in my head and settle on the forehead. Seems nice and central. I look into the muzzle to make sure there is nothing stopping the bullet's path. I hold the gun in both hands and settle my right thumb on the trigger. I hope to get a nice round circle entry wound that is hopefully pleasingly symmetrical.
I rest my head on the windowsill behind my bed and decide to keep my eyes open. My cheap Ikea clock is right in front of me on the wall opposite. Suddenly it strikes me that I should time the trigger pull to when the clock is at 3 am. It's only a minute's wait anyway. As the second hand ticks on, it dawns upon me that the clock is 5 minutes slow. So I give up on the timing and just go for it.
As I gently squeeze the trigger I remember that I don't have a gun. I have never had one.
...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...---... ...--
So I switch to the knife.
Especially since I had sharpened it only yesterday. This knife was so sharp that I had almost cut myself just thinking about how sharp it was. But, it was as sharp as a what though? This knife was sharp as a .. tack? A tack? That's what pops into my mind. If you say a tack really quick it sounds like attack. So it fits for a knife I guess. But what is it? What is a tack? This thought seems more urgent and so I look it up.
Tack - a small, sharp, broad-headed nail.
Hmm. Is this the same tack that tacky comes from? That seems contradictory. Wait what does tacky mean again? Bad taste I think. Maybe tacky came from carpets that needed tacks.
Tacky - early 19th century: of unknown origin. Early use was as a noun denoting a horse of little value, later applied to a poor white in some southern states, hence ‘shabby, cheap, in bad taste’ (mid 19th century).
Isn't tack also something to do with horse equipment. Maybe they are related. But not in the sense I was thinking about. The unknown origin part doesn't really help.
I let out a big sigh and get back to the matter at hand. Something to do with me dying. Yes, go get the knife.
I look at the slow clock and see that it's already past 6. And then I hear her stirring. I guess this has to wait.
