The barrel of the gun was cold against his temple. His finger was coiled around the trigger. His arm was shaking. It may have been fear, but mostly it was the drugs and the alcohol. He wasn't thinking straight anymore. He was sure he overdosed. He woke up in a puddle of his own vomit and blood. His nose had been bleeding, it hadn't done that in a long time. Crimson streams from his nose onto his cheek and down his chin had dried to a dark redish brown. It had dripped down into his lap. He didn't even bother to wipe it off. What would be the point? It wasn't going to bug him much longer. Soon he would be gone from this world in a flash.
Would there be Heaven, as his mom always told him? Or would he go to Hell, as his stepfather had always said? Had he amounted to anything? No. His stepfather was right. Look at him now. He didn't even know where he was. No one did. He didn't even know the date. This was the first time he could remember ever beeing consious of his surroundings. The last while had been a drunken, drug-riddled haze. He couldn't remember a damn thing. Where he was. Who he'd been with. Hell, who he was. Who was he? He didn't know. He didn't remember much. How had he got here? How did it come to this, sitting in this dark room with a gun to his head?
It was her. He remembered it was her. It always came back to her. She left him. He never knew why. Or did he not remember? He remembered that he wanted to escape the pain. What better way than painkillers? Before he knew it, he was snorting coke and shooting heroin. Shake rattle and roll all night long, never stop, do or die. He was addicted, he knew that. But the feeling he got from the blow was a hell of a lot better than how he felt the rest of the time.
So how did it come to this? Where did all of his friends go? Why was he still passed out in his own vomit? And then he realized he had no friends. Only the ones who shared his haze. They left him to his while they reveled in theirs. And the ones who shared his haze didn't even realize anything was wrong. He was alone. All alone. And now he wanted to end it. Alone, alone, always alone. Only she had ever made him feel comfort. Now she was gone. It was cold. Dark.
Would that be it when he died? Would he still be alone? Or would there be others? No, he knew that he would be alone. He was always alone. Always. No one cared. His own parents probably didn't know he was gone. They never cared. Why should they? He was unwanted. The only person who ever made him feel wanted was her. And now she was gone. Now he was alone. And he would always be alone. Did it have to be that way? His finger gripped the trigger tighter. He could feel his arm shaking. Did he really have to die alone, no one by his side? Would he really die alone? This wasn't fair. It was never fair. To be alone...
He relaxed his grip on the trigger as an idea came to him. It was so simple, so brilliant that he can't believe he never thought of it before. Maybe it was the drugs talking, but he didn't care. It was an amazing idea. And he could make it happen. He wouldn't die alone.
He would take some with him.
He smiled and took the gun from his head, and brought it to bear on the sleeping hazer near him. He squeezed the trigger. He knew what he must do now.