ix -  realization

   A noisy silence plays around the room. Another click.

Another **** empty chamber click.

I find myself terribly amused in spite of the circumstances. I think some part of my mind may have slipped off into the deep end. Temporary insanity perhaps. The mind sheltering itself from the damage of reality.

I often wonder what it would be like to go insane. I imagine there are two ways you could go:

In one, you remain fully aware of your actions, yet are conveniently ‘unavailable’ to control them. In this state you could light fires or slit throats and then sit cross legged in court and discus them intelligently with a judge, jury and straight faced lawyer, who all, despite being disgusted with your actions, on some level understand where your coming from.  

In the other state you simply mole away into a dark corner of your mind and find peace. In this state you can not possibly be responsible for your actions because your body has become its own politic, using the morals and values of the surrounding society to dictate its actions and govern its activities. Everything that you do can be related to some film you’ve seen or some song you’ve heard or some demented book you’ve read. You’re not responsible.

Am I responsible? 

I look over at Kirt and he is shaking his head.

‘This is it Jes. I say **** it man. We have been leading up to this all our lives. And now that it’s here…we have to ask ourselves…is it worth it?”

He rests his head in his hands.

“Really. Is it worth it man? Why don’t you just set the gun down. Let’s end this madness now.”          

He raises his head and looks at me. He appears solemn.

“Sure Kirt. And then, you win right.” As solemn as I can manage.

“Well, not that it matters anymore…but yes. I mean, it is your turn.”

My amusement continues.

Four shots. Four clicks. Two left.

Ones an empty chamber.

Ones a one way ticket to Deadsville. 

50/50.

Now these are odds I can relate to.

Red or black. Penis or pussy. Alive or dead.

Either way I am ****. Alive minus a best friend. Or dead.

 “How did we let it get this far Kirt.”

“Don’t worry about it bro.” He says with a tad bit more enthusiasm than I care for.

“Let’s just do this shot and get the hell out of here.”

I raise my eyebrows in consternation.

“Shot? Oh that’s funny Kirt. Real **** funny.”

He laughs heartily.

“I don’t mean that...” He motions to the metal beast.

“I’m talking about booze mate. The real stuff.” 

He stands and moves through the hazy room to the dresser. He opens the top drawer and pulls out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

I close my eyes and gather my thoughts.

“Yea…sure. Pour me a big one.”

Kirt sets the glasses down and fills them both to the brim with the tangy liquid. My vision focuses on the bottle. I see the worm floating around at the bottom. I envy it.

Kirt sits back down and raises his glass in salute.

“Here’s to the Lions winning the super bowl this year.” 

I raise mine.

“Carpe diem.”

In the instant it takes me to suck the warm liquor down my throat I have a startling realization…

I’ve always been insane. Everyone and everything is.  

I’ve never been my own mind. Never my own person. 

Theres never been a sane fate. Or destiny.

No Kirt. No game. No gun. Just delirium.  

We all just ‘exist’ in this world of elements, humans being a simple mutation of the evolution of the cosmos. Controlled by the madness that is nature.  

For the first time in my life I feel the cold embrace of reality. The horror of sanity.

I finally see through the eyes of the shooter. The murderer. Wilkes Booth. David Chapman. Earl Ray.   

And it’s all about control. To be a god…    

I toss the empty shot glass over my shoulder and before Kirt can blink I’ve once again got the gun in my hand.

It feels right.

I turn the business end toward me, all the while watching Kirt, as if in slow motion…his mouth forms the letters…”NNNNNNN…OOOOOOO….”

The barrel once again inserted violently into my own mouth.

I’m smiling.

My finger itches.