Killer Mine

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I got out of the car slowly and stood looking up at the darkened window of the apartment. The cold rain pelted the glass, making it look like a black mirror, an evil, nasty eye in the face of an evil, nasty building. There was something disgusting about it all, something foul and dirty, even unthinkable.

Up there, behind that darkened window, I had to kill myself. Up there I’d know what it would be like to lie dead, know the feeling and sight of featureless expression, the laxity of death.

The gun in my pocket seemed to be too heavy, so I just took it out and crossed the street with it in my hand. The front door was open. So was the inside one. Behind it was the yawning, cavernous mouth of the pitch-black stairway and corridor.

One flight up and to the front.

In my mind I was picturing my face on the floor, half turned into the light, eyes partially opened and jaw slack. All consciousness gone. All conscience gone too. Nothing left. Just dead.

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