Bullet

The dining room table was clean. Not even a centerpiece touched the surface. The place she called her own was clean and in good condition. It was the perfect scene. She couldn't have asked for a better place to go through with it. It was her fate that this happened this way. She couldn't see any other solution. As she sat on the couch in the living room smoking her black, drinking vodka, cleaning the 9mm she had bought a couple of months ago, she just sat there. Her face was filled with the misery she felt. Her heart was heavy. Finally, she had found her escape. The disappearance she had been so hoping for was being assembled slowly in front of her. Tears flowed slowly but not enough to distract her vision. Carefully she put her toy together, making sure each part was attached correctly. She took a walk to the back room and grabbed the envelopes she had placed the letters in. Each one explaining the love and feelings she had for the receiver. She wanted them to understand they didn't have to worry about her anymore. The concern can cease. Her faith was long gone. Her hope was destroyed. She always said she would die alone. This was going to guarantee it. This was years in the making. In her mind, it should have happened before she started sixth grade. Everyone always told her to think about herself first. This was the one thing she wanted the most. She placed the envelopes on the table. The black was done. The glass was empty. It was time. 9:42am. She placed herself on the couch to be comfortable. Sixty seconds. Awaiting the time she was brought in this world to leave it. The white dress she wore would be ruined. That was her intention. It was as empty as she felt inside. No more feeling worthless. No more insecurity. No more contemplation of this act. No more tears. No more sadness. No more feeling anything. It was about to over. She was done. Finally she was done. 9:43am. She slowly placed the hard steel to her temple. 1...she cried hard...2...she closed her eyes and take her last breath...3...she pulled the last trigger. It was over. Her life had come to a tragic end...but only for a few seconds, the length of time it took for her to realize the gun had jammed and she was still breathing. 9:44 had flashed across the screen...she cliched her chest and wept into the dress with the gun sitting now sitting on the couch. Praying was all she could do. It was the only thing she could think of after another one of her thought out plans had failed...