I sit crossed legged on floor, the soft light of the closet bulb glistening across the cold black steel of the revolver in my hand. The barrel pushed heavy beneath my chin. Up and back. The hammer thumbs down with a loud snick while my finger lightly lies across the trigger.
Goosebumps in the cold room show upon my shoulders and neck, waiting with anticipation. The same anticipation that weighs upon my brain. Unknowing what tomorrow will bring or the nothingness of what may come with a single strong pull of a finger.
The hammer returns to rest again as time runs slowly and I wait. Wait for what or why is the mystery of the night.