The Hard Boot Option

He’s going to end in February if he doesn’t have a reason not to. It’s just plain old wasteful to live when you don’t want to. It’s going to be a pretty little pistol that does him in if it comes to that. He keeps the pistol in a cigar box marked hard boot option. It sits in his closet, ever so close to an epicenter of a hypothetical avalanche. He’s putting together his tax retur some ten feet from the closet.

He keeps the gun because of Dorthy, who has been dead for ten years. Dorthy died ten years ago but she started leaving twelve. Thirteen years ago, Tim had found the pistol under Dorthy’s dining room table. He had had palmed it in fear of those terrible things that dotty old mostly blind women might do if given half a chance.

Later he had found the gun among his things. The pearl handles felt good in his hand and the gold leaf around the slide appealed to his vanity. As he inspected the gun further he found a single bullet in the chamber and nothing in the clip. She died afraid, creeping into the very base of her mind as the lights went out. Perhaps, if he had left the gun there, she’d avail herself of the exit.

Tim can’t fix that, he can only carry it. Now, Tim’s got himself an exit if he so desires to take it but right now taxes… then maybe later death.

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