I turned the thin and water-stained key, igniting the engine, and shifted to reverse. I looked up at my old house as the sun peeked around the corner. Wow. That’s weird to say. Just two days ago it wasn’t my old house it was just mine, and two weeks ago it was mine and Sharon’s. I still can’t believe it’s over. I slowly released my foot from the break peddle and let the car roll itself off the end of the driveway. Now the sun was completely shining around the house and into my eyes, until it became hidden behind the real-estate sign staked in the emerald green grass of the lawn. I pressed my foot on the gas peddle and drove down the street. Not once did I look into the rearview mirror, not once did I regret my decision.
I wasn’t far from the highway to begin with, but once I got there I began to tremble with fear and nervousness. I had no plan I was just going to drive until I found a new place to stay, a new life to live, but the fear of having nothing grew on me. My body shook as chills and drafts flew through the car, and my goose bumps grew to the size of geese. Nothing could change the way things were and I knew that. The only thing I could do at this point was turn on the heat in the car, at least it would save me from one more worry . . . hypothermia. I stared through the front windshield trying my hardest to blank my mind, to not think about anything but the road ahead.
It was mid-evening and my map was rested on the passenger seat beside me. The sun had sunk beneath the hills to the west. Only a few small rays were faintly lighting up the clouds above. The heat had been on in the car for a little more than two hours now, and what used to be goose bumps had turned to hairs, standing on their ends. Sweat was starting to form on the tip of my nose. I flipped the heat off and opened the front windows all the way to fell that evening breeze before it went cold. Like to tides of the water there were tides to the air, and in just a few moments the tide would change and become cold enough to make icicles. As the wind blew through my hair and whirled through the emptiness of my car, the map flapped on the seat beside me. I grabbed it before it flew out the window and held it to the seat for a few moments as I analysed the upcoming road. I needed to take my eyes off of it for a few moments to seek through my glove compartment for a paper weight. I bent to the side extending my arm and opened up the door. I looked back up again to see where I was on the road, it seemed I was safe enough. I bent back over and riffled through the many manuals and pamphlets looking for something heavy enough to hold the map down, maybe a pair of gloves, but there were none, which arose the question to my mind, why do they call it a glove compartment if there are no gloves in it? All I could find were pictures, pamphlets and postdated parking tickets.
As I continued my journey of the endless dashboard box (that’s what I’m going to call it if there are no gloves in it) I heard an oddly pitched noise echoing in the distance, then it came to me of what it was, CAR HORN! I jumped up no my seat and squinted as the other cars fog lights blazed into my eyes. I sharply spun the steering wheel to the right; avoiding an accident. I missed the other car by a hair and hit the breaks once we passed each other. They kept driving, so they must have been all right, but that scared the piss out of me. I took a deep breath in closing my eyes as I slowly exhaled. “Jesus Christ!” I said to myself, gasping from excitement then I rolled up the windows. I rubbed my eyes and took another breath before continuing on the road. A couple minutes passed before I looked back at the map, but the map wasn’t there, shit! It must have blown out the window.
I sat in that old brown rocker I got from my grandmother. The door across the room was locked and bolted shut. My best of friends viciously banged on it, crying for me to open up, but I couldn’t. I sat in that chair holding the slick black nine millimetre that I had bought off the street, and it was at this very moment that I understood the phrase “My life was in my own hands.” I stared at the gun for a few peaceful moments and in that space all the noises outside the door, all the money that was wasted on the contents of this room, all the flaws of my life just faded away.
I slowly lifted the gun and placed the barrel directly to my temple. I securely gripped the trigger, all is calm, and in the last serene moments of my life I hear my best mate’s voice arise from the silence. “Mark, don’t do it. I know what you’re feeling, I know how hard it must be for you to have that gun in your hands. You can literally see your life slipping of the cliffs of hope, and all that you previously knew is just moments from being gone. But I beg you, don’t let your sorrows get the best of you. I was in your position not so long ago. Remember the day Shannon broke up with me? Do you remember how I spent the whole next day in my room? Well that entire day I had a gun to my head, but I saw the positives, however few there may have been, and I dropped that gun. Please Josh, drop the gun.”
I couldn’t drop the gun. My life was over. It was a short 22 years and it was over, I had flunked out of a university, I had no money to pay for a home, and my girlfriend had just left me. I released the muscled of my arm, flailing the gun toward the ground. I took out the ammunition, with the exception of one bullet. If I was supposed to die then the one bullet would be the one to do the job. I placed the magazine back in the gun and once again lifted it to my head. One pull, that’s it, maybe it would fire, maybe it wouldn’t.
My hand shrilled up and my skin went pale. With a twitch of my finger, I pulled the trigger, I knew what was going to happen though. You can’t play Russian Roulette with a nine millimetre.