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.
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