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Another short story thing. Used to be suicidal, not so much anymore.

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'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' I can still hear her words, the soft whisper of her voice, like wind through the Autmn leaves. 'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' The sentence echos through my mind, over and over again, with no sight as to when it will end. Still I sit, the gun in my hand, and the soft sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata issuing from the speakers of my JVC. The metal is cold in my hand, it's matte black surface reflecting little of the candle light. I look to the ceiling and close my eyes, trying to capture the notes of the music, each rise and fall, each peak. The tears have began to fall, I can feel them trailing down my cheek and dropping on to my bare chest, amidst the numerous scars there. My grip tightens on the gun, as if it is my only hope. Perhaps it is... Perhaps the gun is the only chance I have at peace, the only way to get away from her soft voice. I raise the gun to my temple, the cold nose of the revolver sends chills through me. The hammer gives little resistance as I pull it back, it's small click as the mechanism catches. I take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger. The sound of the hammer striking nothing jars me greatly. I shakingly put the gun down and stare at it, at the way the light moves lazily over it. My eyes close and I begin to weep again. The same routine as the night before, and the night before that, the same broken promises of remembering the bullets. Sleep takes hold of me and my vision fades with the flickerig light of the candle.

'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' Another night...Still the music plays and still her voice haunts me. My mind is filled with her last words to me before she killed her self. I shiver at the memory of her pale face framed in the doorway, the saddened look in her eyes as she turned and walked out of my life. 'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' I hold my face in my hands, tears spilling onto table top, inches from the freshly opened bottle of Jack Daniels. When will it end? Why can't you just forget? I ask myself over and over. The Beethoven cd restarts Moonlight Sonata, I tilt my head slightly, listening to the song. My hand finds the gun, I put it to my head and hold it as hard as I can, as if I might drown out the questions, and her voice. I scream in anger as I sqeeze the trigger repeatedly, rewarded each time by an audible and mocking click. I throw the gun across the room, hitting the wall. Grabbing the bottle I take a mouthful of the amber liquid. The burning trail it leaves calms me as I sit back and listen silently to the song. Sleep finds me soon after, the empty bottle of Jack clutched in my hand.

'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' It has been two months since I bought the bottle of whiskey, and still the voice haunts me. Nothing can quiet its whispering, drugs only made it worse... Today some thugs jumped me, I stood quietly in the center of the circle, my mind oblivious to their questionings. They stopped kicking me after two policemen showed up and chased them off. I checked myself out of the hospital just after nine o'clock pm. 'Not that it matters any more, no, not that it matters...' The voice again. I am through with it all, through with the tears, through with the pain, with the Beethoven cd. I have made up my mind to stop prolonging the end. The hospital said that the medication would stop the voices, but what do they know? No more staying up at night and crying myself to sleep, no more waking up cold and alone, and...no more forgetting the bullets. I stand up and walk over to the stereo system. The speakers pop softly as I turn off the music. I return to my seat and pick up the gun. The candle light moves over the metal, seemingly brighter than any time before. I raise it to my temple and look to the ceiling. I am free... The hammer is released.


The world fades from view and all becomes silent except for the distant sound of music. The familiar sound of a single piano plays from the darkness. Moonlight Sonata...