One More Glance

It's hard to say what truly happened that quiet evening. The weather was of a gloomy, and tasteless atmosphere. I remember standing atop the hillside, as the warm colors of the sky formed a blanket around my cold body. A feeble attempt to comfort and procrastinate my fate. As I looked unto the horizon a sense of nothingness clashed together with the cynical darkness haunting both my past memories, as well as present; eating away at the broken emotions that swarmed around in my mind all scattered. Life was taunting me, I could see. And something was waiting for me... Just ahead...

Reflecting back at my jaded history, I don't see where I went wrong... I only know that feelings began to rise within me. A pessimistic personality began to possess my mind. I remember the principal sent me to the guidance office for my impassiveness, assuming that I was depressed. And when laughed in a deliberate see-through voice, as to state 'Are you just now seeing this?' and then I claimed it was a mere development that they would never understand, I guess I pushed it too far. It's easy to let one allow impulses take them over. Especially, when there's very little to be taken over. As a result of my arrogance, I was forced to attend the counselor daily. I'd sit in the chair, as the counselor went through routine questions, and I pretended to answer them with some truth. I don't think the either of us wanted to be there with each other. I guess that's both our punishments for being who we are though. It's their fault, I kept saying at first. But then, 'No, I can't blame this on my surroundings', finally flashed into the front of my album of thoughts. They're right to say I'm paranoid. But I'm right to be paranoid. So after weeks of going to the counselor I had developed a style of manipulation. I let them think they had broken through the glass of my cold heart. But as so many have done to me, I created an illusion to look at. I let their efforts go on, but I knew their efforts were in vain.

I guess the ongoing torture is what led me to my dreadful devastation. But I am the one to blame. When I did not choose to lead my own life, the agony and misery that had been bottled up for years chose to take action. Life saw me losing my sanity. I didn't... By then, it was too late for me. So it took advantage of me. Rather than attempt to fight back, I just sat there - blinded by my own ignorance.

I feel sympathy for this world, and as much as I hate to admit it - myself. I feel the sympathy for the world, for I know I'm not the only one that thinks the way I do. And the world is cursed to deal with people like me, and I am cursed to deal with the world. Will they cry when I'm gone? Or will they not even notice? We're two different dimensions - the world, that is, facing each other with an opaque mirror that goes both ways. But for the both of us, it's easy to see through.

And now, I stand atop this hillside, with a gun at my head... When Van Gogh died, he had shot himself in an open field. I wonder if this is how he felt. I wonder if he could have cried anymore, even after the shot. Even so, his life lives on more in today's present time than it ever did in the time that he lived. I wonder if he saw what was going to happen. That as time passed, after he died, his life would be more livelier than ever. I wonder if the same principles will be applied to my life... Of course not. If God were real, I think I'd be doing him a favor right about now... After all, some say we're a reflection of what he's become. Allow me to wipe a pimple away from his face. How selfishly considerate of me, to say the least. Sarcastic angst, won't get me anywhere. I know... My deepest and sincere apologies.

I now have the chance to stop the memories from at least haunting me, I think to myself, as I tilt my head optimistically to the right, as the sun begins to fall further down the sky. Moreover, I'm sorry that I must abandon those who have to live with the things I have burdened them with. I have quit with the game that life has provided me. The finish line is now. Not 70 years from now.

I slowly move the gun toward the center of my heart. My hand trembles, but for once, I don't feel insecure about the choice I'm about to make. It's time to end my sorrow. I will most likely remain quite insignificant, when it comes to the world's list of lost ones. I've been lost for the last 4 years... Why would anything be different for the world after the lack of my participation becomes obvious?

With the gun pressuring my chest, I pull the trigger without much hesitation. It's either relief or blood that I feel running down my side - maybe both - as I fall to the ground. The sunset has vanished. The darkness is here. The light is gone. But the transparent tears that have taken their toll still tremble inches away from my closed eyes. Faintly.