This deserves to be read by everyone.
Blood and pieces of bone begin to slide up the bedroom wall. A sonic boom sucks out buckshot, sealing holes left behind.
A pasty, overweight man in his late forties sits up in bed. Splatter flies off sheets. The back of his head pieces together, a jigsaw puzzle of skull and scalp.
He leans forward, removes the shotgun from his mouth, removes the cartridge, returns it to the box.
He stands, leans the gun against the wall.
He stares quietly at the gun, sighs, begins to feel less ready. He pushes a tear into his eye.
He sits at his desk, takes a pen, traces letters on a notepad. His sentences disappear under ballpoint. He returns the notepad to the drawer as shadows shorten with the rising sun. On the sidewalk below his apartment in the city, people open doors to return home, slip out of their clean clothes into something…
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AndyTrails 