Dark Sight

I

He’s heard it so many times he can virtually describe every distinct sound about it. The whispery slide of the bullet as it slips into its chamber. The mechanical whir of the bullet cylinder as it spins after being slapped. The sudden “clack” of the revolving bullet cylinder as it locks into place. The slow and ominous click of the hammer locking into place, as it is cocked back, ready to hammer out a wad of lead that can end lives faster than most people blink.

All that’s needed to be heard is that final loud bang. A sound that will end all the noises in the world. A sound that will drown out all the sorrow and hurt he ever felt. A sound that will finally make him forget about Catherine… ever sweet and caring Catherine. And little Josh. Catherine and Josh. The center of his life, his universe. But now they’re gone. He should be gone too, he thinks. All that’s needed is just one loud bang from his gun.

He’s ended many lives this way. Criminal lives. Lives that really needed ending, or when he was never really given a choice. It’s tough that way, but that’s how it is when you’re a cop. With his gun, he’s made sure many bad men never hurt anyone else.

But not this gun. No, this gun is special. This gun will end his life. This gun will make that one last bang that will change everything. This gun will make all the sadness and pain go away.

If he could only pull the trigger. It would be so easy, he heard the guys at forensics say suicides that did themselves in this way never even felt a thing. Probably never even heard that last bang. Or probably they did, but by the time their brains recognized it, most of their gray matter would have already been flying out the other hole the bullet makes as it takes an express route through their heads.

He’s tried this so many times he lost count. He wants so badly to end his life, to take the easy way out, just so that he wouldn’t have to miss his dear wife and beloved son every time the alcohol wears off.

He wants to die. But he’s afraid. He doesn’t understand it. He’s had so many bullets flying so close to his face before that he could almost swear he could see the grooves and ridges on the bullet as it whizzes by. He’s gone toe-to-toe with a madman with a machete the size of a sedan and he didn’t even so much as blink with fear. He’s had to tell his wife that he went out one time (and drunk at that) with a witness he had to protect, and he wasn’t afraid. Well… maybe a little. But never this afraid.

Was he really afraid to end his life this way? Or was he afraid that even if he did manage to kill himself, he won’t see his dead family on the other side?

Whatever the case may be, he’s afraid. But he wants to die. Because he misses kissing Catherine. He misses nibbling little Josh’s ears, ears so similar to his own pointy ones that no one could deny he was his son.

This gun should do it. This gun will do it. But maybe not tonight. He puts the gun down on the table for what seems like the thousandth time. He puts it down and grabs the beer bottle next to it and drinks deeply.

It’s been three years and he still can’t believe they were gone. He could never believe that for all the good he did as a cop, his own family would be butchered like so much meat.

He refrains from throwing the beer bottle across the room this time. Makes no sense anyway, other than looking like a cheap imitation from a corny movie, he would have to clean it up in the morning anyway. He’s got enough scars on him from tossing himself into danger without adding some more to his feet.

Besides, just because he’s a broken man doesn’t mean he has to break everything he can from time to time.

He does instead what he’s been doing for the last three odd years since the death of his family, crying himself to sleep while muttering their names softly. He would certainly give anything to see them one more time. But for now, the night takes pity on him and grants him sleep.