Schitzophrenia

Schitzophrenia

He thought about how many times he’d been here. All the times he’d been in the same situation. Almost every night, he thought, pretty frequent. He was no longer fazed by the non events that came around so much. He sat waiting. He knew it was coming, just a matter of time. He pressed the barrel harder into his skull. He heard it. His finger twitched and his ears flooded with screams. His finger danced on the trigger, and he heard a clear voice among the muddled shouts; What are you doing?! it shouted. Are you crazy? No one could understand. Put it down, man! the voice pleaded. His finger relaxed, and retreated a slight bit. But then, he’d heard another voice, one that made his grip tighter. Why should he put it down? the new voice yelled. Let him continue. We all know he won’t do it. He was angered by this statement. I could so do it, he thought. Then he thought, does doing it make me any more of a man? It must have, because not doing it would make me less of one. The first man chimed in, Please, you have too much to live for! Like that was anything new to hear. You don’t have to do thi- it was cut off by the second man. Maybe you do have to, your life’s a mess anyway. No friends, no girlfriend, no family… Who’d miss you? He had good points. The first man seemed to leave his room, and the second man sat down for the show. Let’s be honest here: you won’t do it. You’re weak. You’re a bitch. You couldn’t do anything to protect her, and you won’t do anything now. You’re gonna live the rest of your life with this, until it completely eats away your soul. Because you are a stupid, useless, pathetic little fuck.
He turned the gun to the man, and shot.
In the moment, he didn’t feel a thing. He only felt the anger. Still standing, he dropped the blood-spattered gun. He took a step, but twisted to the ground as his knees failed him. There was no pain, no hurt. He was smiling as he bled out in his bedroom. Well, I’ll be damned. the second man choked out. You actually did it.