One of Six.

A thick fog of smoke covered his face. Only the light from the cherry pierced through it as he sat in his chair. On the desk before him sat the fork in the road. A fully loaded revolver with anger compelling its use. What was holding him back were the consequences and his passiveness. How strongly he wished to overcome the angel on his shoulder and let the anger take over but it was not in him. Her sweet and lingering voice echoed inside of him constantly reminding him of what she had done. Even with the memory and the scene he had witnessed her voice still made him smile. No smile before had ever hurt as the one that split across his face in the fog of smoke. A love that was once so immense was becoming a darkness that boiled within him. How he longed to show her the error of her ways and yet he could not do it. There was no amount of darkness within him that would allow himself to fulfill his revenge. The pain could not be released and for him it was better to suffer alone than to share it with the world. He sat in silent agony without movement waiting and wishing that someone could relieve him from his torture. Without thought to any of his surroundings he allowed the long bit of ash that was once his cigarette to fall on the desk. As it landed his distant tearful gaze broke and he was back in the world. His anger turned to sadness and his thoughts began to turn on him. It was no longer her fault that she had done those things but his. He blamed himself for everything. He believed that it was obvious that she had betrayed him. No woman could stand to be with him. All of the women from his past flooded his mind and their ends were all his fault as well. The tears flowed with a slow steady pace. Dripping to desk and landing in the ash. The only thought he could manage to break through the wall of self-loathing was of the bottle of scotch that was kept in the desk drawer. He pulled the quark and lazily tossed it across the room. His sips from the bottle became bigger and far more frequent. Half of the bottle had passed through his lips before the tears had stopped. Without notice his mind cleared. No more anger, no more self-loathing. He simply sat in a numb stupor. His lighter caused the beginning of a new cherry on a new cigarette that brought back the fog of smoke. With his left hand he lifted the revolver and brought it to the side of his head. The hammer retreated waiting to strike as he waited for the courage to cause it. But the courage was not there. He removed the barrel from his temple and opened the cylinder. One by one he sat the .38 caliber bullets upright on the desk. Only one of the six was all he needed but he used none. No, he would die on this night and with this knowledge in his head he smiled. 

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