A Nice Guy: Part 3
***The following contains graphic depictions of self harm & violence. Your discretion is strongly advised.
He didn’t just kill his best friend, he killed his only friend. They would no longer spend Saturday mornings on the couch together with those action movies his mother never wanted him to see. They couldn’t run around in the snow together anymore; there would be no more jumping around in snowbanks together. He wanted to believe in his heart of hearts that he didn’t kill his best friend, but he wasn’t sure.
On his bedside table was a picture of the broken boy with his deceased best friend. It was the picture the shelter snapped of the two of them before allowing the puppy to go to his new home.
They both look so happy; a boy and his dog is a tale as old as time. Both the boys in the picture have a look of happiness in their eyes that would suggest a bright future and a turn around for the better. The eyes of the animal were as big as saucers and they showed a glimmer of hope, unlike some shelter dogs who look like they’ve lost all hope in humankind. His master’s eyes show the same, even though they’d known the pain which he inflicted on his animal a million times over.
The angry teenager slammed the picture frame onto the plush carpet of his bedroom, shattering it into a million pieces, and then removed the photo. He clutched it tightly. He went to the closet and picked up the gun that was hidden behind many boxes, which were covered in dust and cobwebs. He went to retrieve bullets from a container that once held a huge amount of a strawberry flavored mints with a scent which was so obnoxious, that one could smell it from a mile away. He gathered the bullets into his gun, putting each one in the clip carefully, counting out loud as he went, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.” Droplets of blood began to hit the floor one by one from the shattered glass, but he didn’t notice them. The broken child situated himself up against the wooden framework of his bed. His last words would be “I love you, Arlene.”
He put the muzzle of the gun against the roof of his mouth and pulled the trigger. The paramedics would not be called until long after rigor mortis had set in.
It’s okay to not be okay, there is help!
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1–800–273–8255
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/
http://chat.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/GetHelp/LifelineChat.aspx
