What a waste of a beautiful mind. The moment the bullet penetrated through the domain of the brain, an internal earthquake destroyed everything within the vicinity. The brain was bubbling happily in serenity when a bullet cracked the globe it is enclosed within and millions of connected nerves were torn apart, never to be connected again. Although the bullet passed strait through, everything was ruined, beyond repair. The body returned the stolen air and slowly returned to its original state of clay. Flinching numerous times as a result of painful nervous spasms, the nameless face fell to the ground.

A hole the size of nothingness oozed blood onto the freshly cemented sidewalk. The mind would have wanted drama to happen. He wanted the birds to stop singing, the sun to hide behind a veil of clouds, the onlookers to rush to his side in tears of pity, and for his friends and family to blame themselves. For he did this for a reason, to end himself and bring pain to the ones that loved him. He craved the thought of ending. He was just so tired of everything. It seemed as if every stride was met with the excrusiating pain of needles and he thought that if anyone loved him, they too were met with pain.

The mind was healthy, strong, and wise. He knew what he was doing and after writting of it on reciepts until the yellowpaper was wet with ink, he thought that it was time to stop thinking of it and do it.

And so he put the pistol to his temple and with a loud cold wet bang that disrupted the bliss of sound, another beautiful mind was put to an than the expected warm tears soaking the faces of onlookers, they strolled on as if nothing happened. The birds still sang and the sun still shone. Because that's just how cold the world can be.