The Brink of Sanity
an excerpt

I caressed the gleaming metal of my newly acquired freedom. The cold object I once proclaimed as pure evil, an object I protested should be banned from the surface of our world. I am now holding such a weapon, openly, and no one, not a soul around, has even blinked in my direction.

I lifted the handgun to let its deathly tip gently press upon my fragile temple. Odd, I thought I’d be shaking. Instead, I’m smiling, breathing, I am at peace. No more will I have to face that monstrosity which has become my reflection. No more will my twisted demons corrupt the path I walk on. Never again will the daylight annoy my in the morning. It will only be the never ending slumber, a dream without a tomorrow, imagination at its best. My index tensed and the first click resounded like the last tic of my clock. Just one more pressure.

Wait. No. Why do I have to die? I always tried. Was it truly never good enough? No, they are selfish. Look at this world. It is rotten. Was it truly that horrendous to go against the corruption of society? To refuse to judge the needy and go with what seems to be true morality? I helped those in need; they bit the hand that fed them. Corruption is our… no, their plague. I was week. I cared. I’ve learned, I’ve numbed. No. That last click, the last tic, it doesn’t have to be for me. They made me like this. The good sheep in the mind of them all. I don’t have to die. It is my life and rules no longer need to apply. Let me show them how the sheep becomes a wolf.

The pressure on my temple is gone while three pairs of shocked eyes riveted on me. “BANG”! One. “BANG”! Two. “BANG”! Three.

I watched them fall, one by one, screaming at me not to be next, but their voices were hazy, distant. I killed them, without a second of hesitation. I just stood there, for a moment, gun in hand. I waited. Why wasn’t remorse nagging at me to cry? Why wasn’t shock there to shake up my nerves? Did I grow psychotic like those we see in the movies? I lifted the gun and studied its murderous features. No. I don’t feel invincible, nor do I sense pleasure or ecstasy.

I walked to what used to be my baby brother. His lightless eyes were frozen in his last begging for me to spare his life. I crouched and softly brushed his crazy locks through my fingertips.

“I’m Sorry.”

It seems like the right thing to say, but my soul is not tainted by even an ounce of pity. They saw. I will not vanish. With their end, I begin.