Is this what I want?  I began to have doubts, but I had a feeling that they weren't any different than any other suicidal person's doubts.  If other people can do it, I can.  Molly would never be able to live with herself.  The guilt would kill her, as it should.  I pulled the revolver from my pocket and looked at it.  It was small, but it would do the job.  It was a wedding gift from my brother "so you can protect you and your woman if you ever need to."  Ironic?  Of course.

Deep breathing seemed to be the thing to do at the moment, so I engaged in taking in air and exhaling it slowly.  I wasn't nervous until that moment.  I tried to look at myself in the mirror, but I couldn't bring myself to look at my reflection without picturing my brains splattered all over the bathroom.  Instead, I looked to the left of my reflection where the blue spray paint mess was visible on the wall behind me.  I turned around, suddenly angry that it was unreadable.  What kind of person wastes his time spraying a graffiti message that can't even offend anyone?

I knew I was stalling and turned back around to face myself one more time.  Pressing the barrel of the gun into my temple, I glanced back to the graffiti, hoping to have a last moment of intuition.  Surprisingly, it came.

I spun back around as the gun fell to my side.  I faced the mirror again, and turned back to wall.  The graffiti was backwards.  Whoever had written it, had created a mirror image on the wall, and it was only decipherable in the reflective glass above the sinks.

VIVA.  It said VIVA.