Fletcher

As they walked in, the sight was clear, Fletcher was a few seconds away from pulling the trigger, and inevitably having half a head. His father, as usual, couldn't react in any other way than the predictable norm. "Dammit Fletcher, put that
fucking gun down, you're acting like a big pussy with this stupid suicide shit," His father expelled. Glancing from his father's face, and to the upper left corner of his eyes where he could just barely see the chrome barrel of the Smith & Wesson .38 revolver pressed up against his pale temple, Fletcher managed to ask, "Would you rather I use this thing on you?" Silence filled the room while each member of the Demske family contemplated this last statement. They seemed anxious and
hopeful that it would be Fletcher to yet again break this awful, almost deafening silence. During the absence of sound, Fletcher gave some thought as to what this was really about, why there was a gun stuck uncomfortably up against his fucking
head. He realized, coming down to the base of it all, even to the reason why tears ran from his eyes that very moment. It was because of his father, because of everything he'd said, everything he'd done, this was all because of him. This sudden
realization, Fletcher kept to himself, the realization that he wasn't angry or disappointed with himself, but it was his father who deserved two or three slugs pumped into his big fucking head. The silence became so far stretched that his father opened his mouth yet again to finish only half a sentence. "Fletcher, you're pissing me off with all this nonsense bullshit, put down the fu-"

bang.

Fletcher's hand recoiled with the mighty power of the revolver as his father's half-headed body began to slump to the floor. His mother screaming and his siblings in complete shock, Fletcher approached the body of his only bane in the world.

bang.

The body rocked in a violent motion with the force of the lead hitting it.

bang.

bang.

Two shots left, he thought.
Although his father's head was mostly gone, he could still make out a bit of where the tongue might have been. "I'll fucking make you stop talking forever," was all that could wander around Fletcher's head.

bang.


One shot.

Fletcher realized something he'd considered a long time ago, he came upon the thought of it yet again, relevant to the bloody scene in front of him. "The only question left is whether to go homicidal before going suicidal" kept revolving in his mind. No love was left for him in this world, it seemed as though even hope had abandoned him for dead. The thought of hopelessness and his revalation circled his head madly, driving him insane with confused thought. Standing over the lifeless, headless body lying in a sick distorted position, Fletcher lifted the revolver again to his temple. He had no final words, nothing left to say to the world, even though no one would care even if he did. And as he felt the warm muzzle touch his sweating skin, Fletcher finally felt satisfied, he had removed evil from the world, or from his anyway. A quick hopeless smile, a gesture to himself in congratulations.

bang.