And that was that, I guess
The pills weren't working, and so there wasn't anything left to do except put that big old kitchen knife to her throat. Or fly off the top of that big bank building downtown. Or take then entire bottle of those lovely little pills that were supposed to make everything better.
I slunk across the floor of the house, silent at three in the morning, and unmoving under the silver moonlight except for me, trudging along with the bottle of pills in my hands. I laughed a little at the irony.
These pills
this medication was supposed to make my life brighter and take away the depression and pain. They hadn't done their job, so they were being commissioned by me to perform one final fling. A contract kill that'd relieve the pain permanently. Seemed about right, to end a futile life that I was tired of living. I'm a fish in a barrel anyways; waiting to be picked out by the stronger,
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