“The following story deals with the subject of thoughts of suicide that some readers may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised. Please take into consideration your own sensitivity or comfort levels before proceeding.”
Edgar handled the revolver in his right hand with curiosity, feeling its weight and looking at the shine on the dark metal. He’d owned it for months and often just sat at home shifting it from hand to hand or running his fingers over the barrel. Now it was loaded of course, and that made a difference in its feel, or was that just his imagination? It was for this moment he’d bought the handgun from that rough-looking character in an alley in the east end. The guy had a small arsenal in the trunk of his car and a box of ammo for each gun too.
Edgar wouldn’t be needing a whole box of ammo, one bullet would take care of his needs. It was late at night on a Saturday, no sound in the hallway outside his apartment door. He’d reached his decision and tonight was the night. No more of simply existing in his COVID-created cell; no more of realizing that even if there were no COVID, there was nothing going on in his life, and not any likelihood there ever would be. Life was empty for him, and there were no prospects for change. Day in and day out, he simply killed time, waiting for…waiting for what? Nothing.
He bought the handgun because it would be quick – all over in an instant. Edgar wanted to die but not to suffer. One shot to the temple and he would feel nothing. It would test his nerve to do it but his mind was made up. He cocked the hammer and slowly raised the barrel to his temple, his hand trembling slightly. Slowly his eyes scanned the living room, the last sight he’d see.
The piercing ring of his cellphone, set on maximum volume, shattered the silence. Edgar’s heart leapt in his chest and his body started. He almost squeezed the trigger from the sudden fright.
“God!”
He lowered the gun and with both hands eased the hammer down. With trembling fingers he picked up the ringing phone and looked at the display window. He didn’t recognize the number. After a brief debate with himself he decided to answer.
“Hello?”
“You SOB!” The voice was a woman’s and clearly angry.
“Who is this?” He started to get angry in response to her anger. “You’ve got the wrong number.”
“You’re not going to brush me off that easy. Do you think you can treat me like you did and then not take my calls?” He could hear her sniffling and he imagined her in tears.
“Look, lady, I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve got the wrong number.”
