I have a surprisingly large backlog of some random writing. Some of it is of debatable quality, some of it is pointless, and probably a lot of it dwells on death and suicide and stuff a little too much. (A recurring theme in a lot of them is mental illnesses of various types… Hmm…)
This is probably my favorite one from the group, though. (Later on, I’ll probably combine some of the shorter things into one post, as I did a while ago.)
I do not know why the things that happen to me do so; it is as if I am the one to do them, but I know that I do not.
I wish to end it all, now, but doubt myself. I decide to leave it up to the unending chaos of the universe that we call “luck”. I load one bullet into a revolver. Russian roulette sounds like a fun game for me.
Haha! What a nasty trick to play on him! He didn’t know, he never knows, but I changed the numbers! Switched them around.
One empty spot and five bullets, not the other way around as he had planned! Oh, haha, he picks up the gun right now.
I give the revolver a spin and point it at myself. The revolutions reside and I pull the trigger.
Oh, damn, it jammed. That little fucker “Lady Luck” likes to mess with me sometimes. It doesn’t matter, though, of course, I’m sure he will try again.
I’m not sure if I should take that interruption as my answer from the universe, or if that was a coincidence. (The difference between those is negligible, if existent at all.)
I choose to try again. Desperation grabs hold of me and I throw myself into the spin and hold it to my head. I close my eyes.
I knew it, he couldn’t keep away. Let’s see if he’s just *really, really* lucky, or DEAD! I don’t need him. I’m sure I don’t.
I pull the trigger. The gun fires, and in a split second before I’m gone I think about how unlucky -or lucky, depending on my viewpoint- I am. It’s all over.
I’m fading with him, damn! I hadn’t thought of this. Oh hell. Don’t make me go down with him. I hate him. Please, no, let me stay, somehow. Fuck him. Fuck me.
What a stupid plan.