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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Gabriel Faile on Sun Oct 01, 2006 11:23 pm

Sitting in a bar. A dank piece of shit bar at the edge of town. There I sat leaning back on the two legs of a wooden chair. The sounds that echoed out gave warning of it's imminent collapse. I didn't care.

I gazed blankly into the shot glass full of 40 proof Bourbon. My hand began to swirl it slowly as I held it from the top. A few drops lashed out onto my dirty white dress shirt that was untucked with it's collar open. My tie hung undone over either shoulder.

I watched blankly as the alcohol sunk in. I shook my head slowly as my eyes wandered around the empty bar. My dangling left hand slowly raised to my lips as I took an incredibly large hall from the half smoked cigarette that dangled between my uncaring forefinger and index.

The bartender caught my gaze, naturally I shifted it away. I wanted nothing to more to do with him than I already did. Hope and Faith had left me. Hope, my wife. Not the feeling, and Faith my daughter. Strange names for a man as broken as I was now.

I took another massive pull from the wandering cigarette secretly hoping that anyone of them would kill me instantly. I stopped swirling the shot and took it. It burned going down. Tears almost came to my eyes as I slammed the glass down and threw up my arms for another one.

I had never been a drinker. Or a smoker. Tonight I was both and much more as to soon be told. I picked up the glass that the Keeper brought me, being careful not to make eye contact.

Yet again I swirled the shot. Tears began to well as I took this one back.

Hope left earlier this evening. She took Faith with her. Faith didn't want to leave. I've never cried so much in my life. Another pull off the dwindling cigarette. I dropped my head as the evening recapped in my head.

My boss called me into his office. I wore the suit that I wore now. Naturally it was pressed and clean at that point. I smiled at him as he sat down.

I threw my hand up to signal another shot. Two this time.

He wore a grim look. I followed his example and took my seat, unbuttoning my jacket as to not tear the button.
"Tyler," he said quietly.

I took another shot and the last haul before butting out the cigarette.

"You've been a great asset to this team over the three years that you've worked here." I smiled at this. "Which makes it my unfortunate duty to..."

I tossed back the last shot. A tear fell as I stood and picked up the jacket while pulling out my wallet. I heard the explosion of water on wood before dropping the contents of my wallet upon the table. I didn't wait for the tender's reaction.

"...allow you to explore other aspects of the business world. You have until the end of the day to clean out your desk." I didn't even ask why. I just rose and left. Packed the useless objects that cluttered my office neatly into my briefcase. I was a neat guy. Was.

The engine of the car echoed through the dark streets as I made my way back to my third floor apartment in the rich section of town. It didn't matter to me that I was influenced.

Earlier that evening on my way home I made a stop. When I got home, that's when it happened. 7:04pm Eastern Standard Time. I broke the news to her and she took my daughter. The only thing I ever loved more than myself walked out that door two hours ago. Never to return to me.

I shut off the engine as I arrived home once again. My footsteps bounced off the bland concrete walls. I pretended not to notice the maddening sound.

The key almost screamed as the lock clicked. I slowly made my way over to our master bedroom. Across from Faith's fully furnished and decorated haven.
I bent over the nightstand where I shoved the nights earlier purchase. I pulled it out, weighing down my hands. That's when a tear dropped from my left eye.

The sound of the hammer clicked as I placed the standard 4.5mm police issue Walther CP-99 to my left temple.


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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Gabriel Faile on Sun Oct 01, 2006 11:30 pm

No critique please.

Comments are welcome.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Circ on Mon Nov 20, 2006 10:46 am

How does one comment without critique, other than to say "I liked it"--which is a subjective critique in itself (much in the same way "I hate it" would be)? Since I don't know how, I'll limit myself to positive feedback.


Excellent forshadowing. Several paragraphs before the end, I had a feeling this guy was going to off himself. Your depiction of the character's emotions was enough, and better, than coming out and saying he was suicidal.

I guess that is only positive feedback if you intended for the plot to be predictable, tho'.

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Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Grimbold Theoman on Tue Nov 21, 2006 10:30 am

The title sort of pointed to the eventual outcome. Sorry that sounds like critique, so I will try and ameliorate by saying that the emotions there are well known, and for me, just now, more than usual, any emotion written brings a response. Good as ever to read your stuff Gabe

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