Paul

  Paul sat in his kitchen chair contemplating the composition of gun oil, and whether or not it was toxic. The situations irony was not lost on him. A half bottle of Wild Turkey 101 on the table in front of him. A smith and Wesson .357 revolver in his mouth, and the only thing he could think about was whether the gun oil was toxic. That, and the fact that the front sight was digging into the roof of his mouth. How did things get to this point, he wondered. Was it just one thing, or was it a combination? It was the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday, his wife at work, and the kids at school. The kids...it was hard to think of himself as a provider when lately, he had to explain to his children that there were no seconds at dinner. Sometimes he went without, just so he could keep their bellies full. Already one month behind on the rent, for this barely better than poverty, piece of shit trailer. How was he supposed to look his wife in the eye? How was he going to explain to his family that he was out of work; that he didn't have a job to go to anymore?

         Tears streamed a river down Paul's face. It all seemed too unimaginably large, so overwhelming, and out of control.  Paul tightened his grip on the butt of the revolver, placed both thumbs on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, he began to pull. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. He could hear the first click as the cylinder began to turn, he look upward at the ceiling. Then, filled with a sense of peace, Paul took the revolver from his mouth and stared at it. In a moment of clarity between the clicks, he saw his family, his wife and wonderful children. Paul placed the gun on the table, and in the blink of an eye the tears of anguish transformed to tears of joy.

         How stupid had he been? So caught up in the hardships of life, he had managed to neglect all the things that brought him peace and happiness. He felt renewed and grateful; he had all the riches that counted in life! He made a choice, in the space between the clicks. A choice to face his problems, and face them with the knowledge that he would not face them alone. He knew in his heart that no matter what, his family would be with him. That thought gave him the strength to continue.

         He checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for his wife to be home with the kids. He thought of making dinner tonight, something to help ease the news. So what if it’s only hamburger helper, minus the hamburger. It could be a feast! Paul rose from his chair, and set about fixing the feast with a grateful heart in his chest.

         He got three steps, when a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea hit him. He stumbled against the chair, knocking it over with a nerve-shattering bang. He managed to retain his balance, even though a splitting pain in his head almost struck him blind. Paul began to panic! What was going on? Why couldn't he concentrate? What was that taste? It tasted acrid, like the taste of a dirty coin on the tongue. In terror, he opened his mouth to scream, but only blood trickled out. Paul stumbled backwards, his heel found something on the floor. It must be the chair, he thought to himself. When he turned to look, he saw the revolver on the floor next to the overturned chair. He did not drop it..or...did he? Paul stared hard at the floor.  How did all this blood get on the floor?  Where did it come from? It wasn't there before. He struggled to retain his grasp on reality. The world was falling away, or was it he who was falling?

         A Searingly bright light formed before him. So bright, he could barely look at it. A shadow began to form. That shadow, became the silhouette of a man, or was it a woman? It seemed so far away. Then he blinked, and it was before him. This new arrival opened its mouth and sang... or maybe it spoke. “Come with me Paul.”
The truth hit home, Paul sank to his knees next to his dead body on the kitchen floor. With barely a whimper, he uttered. “No... How can... I made a choice. The gun didn’t go off, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to.”
The being with the singsong words looked at him, with sympathy in its face. “I know Paul, it is time to go.”


The end







































THE END