Crap, I forgot to make a story for the start of this month…So, here’s the first part of a story that I had tried to get off of the ground (like all of my stories) from back in grad school. Enjoy!
I woke up coughing again. There was a bit of blood on my hand, and I was finally convinced that I was reaching my limits. Only a matter of time before I succumbed to the environment, I kept telling myself, better do what I can now. Breakfast was the same as dinner – canned soup that I ate jellified. The only power that I had left was a small, battery operated lantern, barely enough to see, let alone heat anything. As I ate, the 38% DV sodium in the can was irritating my sores. My mouth screamed bloody murder, but I endured it for as long as possible. Eventually, I gave up, covering the can with a handkerchief. My situation was beyond hopeless, and I couldn’t take it for much longer.
At least the Beretta was still working, and I was glad for that. I checked the magazine, loading a single round. Cocking the action, I placed the barrel right under my chin. My hand, weak as it was from muscle deterioration, started to jitter as sweat poured down my face. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand, and pulled the trigger. Click. What did I expect? The only rounds I had left were duds, and I was praying that they were only duds because they were wet. No luck – they were duds because they were poorly made. Tossing the round into a bag, I placed the handgun back on a shelf. Surprisingly calm, I reached for my last bottle of water. Although I was completely parched, I limited myself to two swigs, and then placed it in my backpack. It had to last me through the day.
Wake up, eat breakfast, try to kill myself, get a drink. I’d been following this routine for nearly a month now, and it didn’t even seem morbid anymore. Surreal, maybe. Morbid, not at all. I finished packing my bag with a few empty water bottles, a granola bar, and a few rocks. Strapping my KA-BAR to my thigh, I picked up a crowbar and left the room. The stairways were completely demolished, which made them difficult for anyone to negotiate. In my condition, it was impossible. The fire escape, on the other hand, was still functional, and I used that to get to street level. Hitting the concrete, I stumbled for a few steps before catching myself on the wall. Continue reading