Suicide

He sat in his small grimy apartment, bottle of Jack Daniels in hand, every few minutes taking a large swig. He had nothing left, she'd made sure of that when she'd packed her bags and left. She'd taken all his money and all of his friends, made him lose his job. Though that wasn't the worst of it Oh no if only, his son was now gone too. His pride and his joy, the one person he loved unconditionally.

He threw the almost empty bottle against the wall opposite him, watching as it shattered almost as easy as his life, his dreams and all his happiness had. He looked up at the pictures on the wall, neatly framed smiling faces that were now nothing more than empty memories. His son his wife and himself crouched onto a park bench smiling as the sun warmed their backs. He stood up, his legs were shaky, he couldn't bare to look at the bitches face for a moment longer. With a fit of rage he clutched the photo in his hand and ripped it from it's polished wooden frame.

A twisted grin painted on his face he tore the photo removing the bitches face.He looked at the remnants of the crumpled photo a single tear running down his cheek. His son was gone, that was true but it wasn't his wife's fault that he was a drunk. He screamed at the top of his lungs, he was sick of all this hurt and pain, all this fury that he felt all day everyday. He screamed and he screamed until his throat was red roar.

He stormed off into the bathroom ripped open the cabinets, ignoring when one of the doors was ripped from it's hinges. Finally he found what he was looking for. He picked up the tiny white bottle of pills that would help him, help him end all the pain. As he closed the cabinet he caught his own reflection in it's mirrored door. There stood before him a pale and gaunt man, with sunken blue eyes and greasy blonde hair. He licked his cracked lips and just stared at himself in disgust. How did it ever come to this?   He ran his hand over his prickly face one last time before turning away.

He made his way back to the black vinyl recliner, his Favorite chair, which ironically had been a gift from her. He took a seat, groaning as his tired muscles protested. He placed the pill bottle on the oak table beside him and quickly grabbed a pen. On the back of an old receipt he scrawled one single word in capitals.
"GOODBYE"

With a sigh he picked up the bottle and screwed off the lid, placing it's rim to his lips. A sob escaped his mouth as tears flowed from his eyes. She was his wife, she betrayed him, took his little boy away. He closed his eyes and emptied the whole bottle into his mouth. He sat and waited for it to finally be over.

His eyes became heavy and his heartbeat became erratic, it really was almost over. He became cold, the room around him began to fade, he closed his eyes. With one last sigh he whispered an apology, to all those he'd ever hurt and all those he was going to hurt, but no one was there to hear. His body went limp and the small white pill bottle fell from his hand onto the floor, it rolled underneath his chair. And so his suffering came to and end, and so his son's came to be.