Hell

Charles was tired of dealing with his life. It seemed to him that it was nothing more than a daily endurance race and he had given more than his share. That is why he found himself sitting at his desk .45 in hand preparing for his next step. Nothing had been going well for him since he returned from the war. He could not control his anger or any of his other emotions. The medication the doctors gave him was not working, and days without sleep were taking their toll.

I am not sure that you have felt the cold steel of a pistol barrel against the side of your head, but for Charles it was inviting and cool to the touch. He made up his mind earlier that day to take this step, making sure to leave a note for his wife of 5 years and kissed his child good night.

It is funny how everything becomes so clear when death is close. Everything was so cut and dried when guns were firing at him; he knew what to do because it was obvious to him. Life stopped becoming so obvious when he stepped off the plane at home. The very image of the enemy he was trying to kill was now driving the taxi that was taking him home. Ghost images of dead comrades that he felt he failed followed him through his waking day, and haunted his dreams at night. It was all too much to take, so he decided to finally end it.

His hand did not shake when he squeezed the trigger but it did not go off. He tried again. Again the pistol did not fire. Beginning to feel frustrated he placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger again and again, still nothing. There was no click, no boom, and no end to his existence. At first training took over him as he checked the weapon for obstructions, but panic came over him as he checked the magazine. It was full, not a bullet discharged. At that point it came to him; he must have left the safety on. Feeling a bit foolish he fiddled with the safety catch and tried again to no avail. He was still alive and at that point very angry.

Frustrated by his repeated efforts to end this madness he raised the weapon and fired it toward the door to his in home office. That time there was a bang, and a thud. He was so tunnel sighted on his immediate dilemma that he did not see that his office door was open, at least until he heard the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Being so bent on making the handgun work he never heard his five year old daughter calling for him, or notice her entering his office. At that point it was too late because as you can guess he had shot her dead.

With the revelation of what he had done his world collapsed around him. He had set out to make his pain go away and instead amplified it a thousand fold. Nothing could bring him peace now cradling in his arms the lifeless figure of the one joy that he had left in his life. At that moment he fell straight into his own Hell.

What I can tell you that he will never know is; the pistol he had was never defective. It fired clean and true the very first time he squeezed that trigger. Unknown to him, he did plaster his brains across his office wall, and no one found out until hours later. Unfortunately for Charles, he did not realize that life, Heaven, and Hell are figments of the mind. In his mind he was at least partially to blame for his friend’s deaths so he subconsciously extended his Hell for an eternity.