Echoes of Regret Page #7

• Drama

								


Warren pulled up to a local liquor store. He went in looking for his trusty bottle of whiskey, but an expensive bottle of tequila caught his attention. I deserve it. He thought as he grabbed the $85 glass bottle and a shot glass. He headed to the cashier. 

“Did you find everything okay?” The 20- something girl behind the counter asks. 

“Yea, thanks” He replied weakly, as he threw a $100 bill on the counter. “Keep the change.” He said as he took his things and left. 

His final stop was a dingy motel not far from his house. The parking lot only held two other vehicles. The sign out front was missing lights in the majority of the letters, the grass was overgrown on the lawn, and sprouts were popping up along all the cracks in the concrete. Taking in the scenery he felt as though it was fitting considering the circumstances. 

Once checked in, Warren found his room. He sat down at a small table, rifling through his black bag, he took out the Tequila, his shot glass, a notebook and a pen. He poured the golden liquid into the clear glass, took a shot, and began writing. 

To whom it may concern: 

His heartbeat was steady as he downed his 5th shot of tequila. He slammed the shot glass down onto the table, as he wrote the final line and finished signing his name at the bottom of the letter. 
I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for any of you.
Love,
Warren 
Feeling satisfied that he would have the final word, he leaned back in the small wooden chair in his musty motel room. He didn’t want to leave a mess for his family to clean up. He sadly chuckled to himself. That's why I am here in the first place. So they will learn to clean up their own messes.
He picked up his matte black Beretta. He ejected the clip, loaded one hollow-point bullet, slapping the clip into place with purpose, he pointed his weapon forward and yanked back the slide pushing the shell into the barrel with a comforting click. 
He contemplated over his loaded savior. “I love that fucking sound, so what comes next. I’ll squeeze this trigger causing the hammer to hit the pin that will then push itself onto the firing cap, forcing the bullet out of the barrel and into my waddle, he picked up his gun and pushed it under his chin, resulting in the flabby skin to ooze down the muzzle.”
He had thought, maybe, he’d feel sad devastation or guilt by this point. Yet, as he sat with his decision all he felt was the grip around chest begin to loosen, air filling his lungs as the breath he’d been holding for years finally released, and the weight of the world rolling off his shoulders.
As his index finger hugged the trigger lightly, he believed this was the right decision. He closed his eyes gently, and with one last sigh of relief he squeezed. 
The sound of the bang, reverberated through the room, shaking the windows. It echoed throughout the motel, and 2 blocks away, inside the home where he used to live, a beautiful woman and her two small children looked out to see where the loud  bang had resonated from. 
The shell fell to the hard floor with a soft clink. The bullet had shattered inside his soft brain tissue and ripping through his skull carrying with it, shards of hair, flesh, and cherry red blood that is painting and speckling, across the yellowed ceiling and down the walls over tiny blue flowers of the wallpaper, that looked as if they themselves were bleeding. 
Some wounds are too deep to heal, and some storms too powerful to outrun. In the silence that remains, we must reckon with what has been lost and what we’ve become. 
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