At this point in time, I’m positive of three things. The walls are soaked with blood; I’m holding a gun; I don’t know what happened.
This isn’t the first time this has happened, losing my memory I mean. I’m trying to remember what Mom taught me. Deep breaths. My favorite place. Close my eyes and all will be okay. Alright. It didn’t work. The walls look like Dad smashed a can of his red paint against it. The thick crimson fluid still dripping. He’s not happy as an artist. He fights about it with Mom all the time. They always end up fighting about life without a child. Almost like it’s my fault. But it can’t be. I didn’t mess up his stupid painting.
Where am I? Who is this at my feet, clutching my ankle with a hand growing stiffer by the second? Based on the curve of the bosom and what’s left of the face I can only draw that it’s a woman. Not a girl, but a woman. Who is she? Where did she come from? Where am I? What kind of gun is this? A pistol. A .45? Who’s .45? There’s blood on the barrel. Must be the blood of whoever this is at my feet. I wish this made more sense. It’d make more sense if I were dead. What a dark thought. Why am I having these dark thoughts? I’m so confused. Who is this? Who is touching me?
The door is opening. Who is that? The trigger is so smooth on my finger. Who is that? Dad? Maybe he can explain what’s going on. He’s asking me what I’ve done. What does he mean? If I knew I would tell him. He doesn’t understand me. This gun is loud.
Is that more blood? Another body. I don’t know how much more if this I can take. Remember what Dad told me. Deep Breaths. My favorite place. Close my eyes and all will be okay. It didn’t work. I’m not surprised. There’s so much blood. Why? What did I do? Who am I? Where am I? How did this gun get in my hand? I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. One option. The only option. I’m going to do it. I can’t do it. I will do it. I’m doing it.
The barrel is cold against my head. But the blood is warm, and almost sticky. That’s an interesting feeling. Who’s this holding my ankle? Who’s lying in the doorway?
This trigger is so smooth.