Irreversible

He sat alone in his room, it was dimly lit. He was comfortably reclined on the sofa, sipping whiskey slowly. A revolver and a single bullet lay on the table in front of him...

"This all makes no sense," he muttered, placing the glass on the table. "It makes no fucking sense!

" He reached for the revolver, opened the cylinder, inserted the bullets, and twisted. "Well, let's have some fun," he said to himself. "Six chambers, five shots, if I'm going to die, I'll do it now." He concluded his "game." "

First for those words I never wanted to say," he said loudly, placing the revolver to his temple. "It's almost like winning the lottery," he muttered, smiling ironically.

And he pulled the trigger...

But this time the chamber was empty.

"So we only have four tries, hmm... now another sin." Thinking deeply, he put the barrel to his temple again

. "For those actions that caused her so much pain for a moment of my own satisfaction." With that, he pulled the trigger a second time... tick...

It was just the trigger flipping, turning the cylinder to the next chamber, and he?... he was still alive, though the first beads of sweat appeared on his face.

"They won't even let me die." He put down the revolver and picked up a glass of whiskey. "Don't you understand that it would be better that way!!!" He threw his words into space, because he was alone in the apartment.

He frantically considered what to do, or what to say, what arguments to support his decision. "You're not listening... you don't have to..."

He put down the glass again and picked up the revolver. "Do I have to hurt everyone?" Tears welled in his eyes. "I don't want to live like this."

He pulled the trigger a third time...

But again, the revolver didn't fire.

His anger and frustration were reaching their peak. He tossed the revolver back onto the table and frantically searched his pockets for a pipe. He found a bent cigarette that had probably been in his pocket for a few days. With shaking hands, he put it to his mouth and lit it.

He calmed down a bit, though he still searched his memory for reasons to end his life.

He took a deep breath, picked up the glass from the table, and downed the rest of the alcohol.

He finished his drink and stubbed out the dying cigarette in the ashtray his mother had given him for Christmas.

"Okay, that's it," he raised the revolver again and placed it against his temple, "just a moment and it's over..."

And he pulled the trigger again...

But the room remained silent, the revolver didn't

fire. "Can't I even kill myself?!?" He was overcome with anger again, he couldn't control himself anymore, he pulled the trigger for the fifth time...

"Why?!" He screamed pleadingly through his tears, "why should I live and continue to cause suffering!?"

He opened the cylinder and saw that it was empty - That's impossible, I was loading it - he had indeed put bullets into the chamber earlier, but now the cylinder was empty - It was your decision - he said, finally calming down.

At that moment, someone knocked on the door

- Please, not now...