The Wires Run Deep

Being loved, Daniel felt guilty for the loaded revolver sitting in his lap. He knew it was not enough to stop him, but it was enough to make it all hurt more. There wasn’t really much staying his hand, except a sad and silly type of cowardice. Next to an old smoking chair that was weathered past value, he sat waiting for the the hands of the clock to meet at twelve.

In his closet sized apartment he was inside the shadow of good upstanding citizens with jobs. A hundred applications submitted and he had nothing but the feeling, that more and more he was a waste. Someone else could use his air and eat his food. He fantasized that when he left some poor bastard from the horn of Africa would take his place. Desta would be so happy to have an apartment so close to downtown.

The .38 in Daniel’s lap was filled with the puniest load that could kill him; he wished his neighbors no ill will. When he practiced it was unloaded but he was ready. He had walked past anger and sadness and was now deep in depression. He was calm. He put the pistol to his head and breathed in, surely for the last time,

Then the phone rang and broke his concentration. Not to be rude, he put down the revolver and went to the ringing appliance. To his surprise he recognized the voice, somehow. It was like something French and Arabic but with clicks. After a moment of deliberation the voice came back.

“Don’t die Daniel, don’t die.”

Desta hung up the phone. Some time ago, he had dream where he lived where another man had died. He was happy there and after he awoke nothing scared him more than that hapiness. That call was expensive but letting a man die when he could of done something would have cost Desta more.


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