Hands shaking, the man poured himself another shot of whiskey. It was the real cheap stuff, the kind that burned something terrible on the way down, that every fiber of his body wanted to throw up out of his system. But he pressed it down. He needed every drop of it. Liquid courage or whatever. At the very least he hoped it would stop the shaking, but as he looked back down his hands continued dancing to their own quick rhythm.
He looked at the table he was sitting down at. There was a half-empty pack of cigarattes, a last call on the plastic bottle of whiskey, and, in the middle, the revolver. The way it sat on the table it felt like it was taunting him, daring him to hold it, to cradle it in his arms. It had been sitting there for hours, motionless, drinking buddies with the man and his brown liquor friend. If you had asked him why he handn’t picked it up he would have given you any litany of excuses but the real reason, the one he was too proud to ever say, was because he was afraid, far more so than he had ever thought he would be in this moment. The whiskey was supposed to help—first just one shot, to calm the nerves, that didn’t work, so then another, that would do the trick, nope, so just one more, then, and then…he had lost track a long time ago, but the fear was still there.
He took a deep breath and grabbed the revolver. When he had first held it he was surprised by how heavy the fucking thing was. It looked lighter in the movles, old Westerns, Clint Eastwood flicks, he made firing one effortless, the power of a cannon in the palm of your hand. Blowing peoples heads clean off. Losing track of how many bullets he had left, losing count in all the excitement. But the man here on the table knew how many bullets were loaded in this revolver, in this chamber — just one. He flicked open the cylinder as if to make sure it hadn’t run off on him, the bullet. And lo and behold the lone cartridge in the chamber of six was still there, residing, waiting.
The man slammed the chamber shut and began spinning it over and over. He found click-click-click-click-click-click sound meditative, almost peaceful. Every click blocking out his racing mind. Each time he flicked the chamber he did it with more force, as if the clicking would get louder, but it didn’t, and eventually it calmed down and stopped, returning the room to its original silent state. He peeked down the front sight to see if he could get a preview of what was in the chamber but there was only the infinite darkness of the long barrel.
He put the gun back down on the table. There would be no preview of his fate. He had decided to put it all in God’s hands, whether he should end it all or continue enduring this miserable existence. For a long time now he had flirted with both outcomes but never committed to either. He was tired of it and decided that tonight would be the final answer. Either God would force him to live or to reunite with his mother and father. There would be no more questions, no more indecision.
He picked up the whiskey bottle and gulped the rest of it. It went down smooth this time. The tsunami of alcohol hit his bloodstream and it generated an odd calm feeling inside of him. The hands were still shaking but he couldn’t feel them anymore.
The revolver was still on the table. He looked down at it and this time there was no fear, no worry. No more reason to delay. The moment of truth was here and all he had to do was play his role. Just pull the trigger, he thought. Just pull the trigger and let God sort it out. He picked up the gun and spun the chamber around one more time. It was all up to fate now. His hands were shaking so furiously that the gun trembled in his hands but he could feel God’s hands on his and it balanced out the trembling. He thought of his mother as he pulled the hammer down. He wondered if he was going to see her again so soon, after so many years apart. It’s all in God’s hands now, he thought to himself. No more worrying. The path ahead had already been decided for him and all he had to do was walk it. He smiled and leaned the front sight upon his temple. It’s all in God’s hands now. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.