The gun in the bag beside me feels like a living thing. If I focus hard enough, I can almost hear it inhaling and exhaling slowly, in tiny, incremental breaths. It peeks out of the book bag opening starkly; I don’t return its gaze.
Outside the sky is just starting to lighten. I have parked my car beside a small lake out in the countryside. There isn’t a soul around, but the silence feels hollow, reproving, like it’s admonishing me for what I’m about to do. I check my watch. 6:31am. Now or never.
I pull out the gun and turn it over in my hand once more. It gleams in the pale light coming in through the car window. It’s a Sig Sauer P320, acquired through surprisingly easy means. Placing it in my lap, I lean back in my seat. I can’t bear to think about the people I love. So instead, I force myself to think about who the person will be to find me. Perhaps it will be a farmer. I imagine the scene; while walking down the road, he sees a car parked on the side. But as he gets closer and closer, he sees the blood, splattered all over the seats and windows. For a moment, he stands stunned. Then, panicked, he pulls open the car door to see if I’m still alive. But he won’t need to look that hard to know.
I check one last time that the gun is loaded, then I press it against my temple. The cold metal digs gently into the soft flesh. For a moment, everything stands still. But I refuse to let the moment linger; I grip the gun tighter and close my eyes, my finger poised over the trigger. Something warm rolls down my cheek. It takes me a few tries at first; clenching my teeth, I pull it.
Nothing happens. I pull it again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The gun has misfired. I can’t help it; a small, hysterical laugh bubbles out of my throat, and I drop the gun on to the floor. I realize that I'm crying. Some people will call it a miracle. Some the work of God. Some the “mysterious workings of the universe.” Whatever it is, it tears something irrevocably out of me, replacing it with a familiar friend, also known as shame. The derealization is crippling; but there’s another feeling as well, that I can’t pretend like I don’t know about.
I feel relieved.
The first rays of the sun are starting to come through the window.