I'm Josh, a 21 year old Cornell student who needs something other than Facebook to procrastinate on
Colossal drops of rain pierce the pooled water that has collected in the dips of the dirt road beneath my blood-soaked shoes. Hunched over on the splintered bench, alone, my elbows burrow into my knees and my right wrist rests gently on my left. My fingers hang carelessly, and blood and rain drip from their tips, contributing in their own small way to the rapidly expanding puddles as water continues to fall torrentially from the angry sky.
My eyes are fixed on the puddle below my feet as I beg my mind not to wander. In the moonlight, I watch as bullets of water form waves of concentric circles around the wounds they inflict. But the waves are ephemeral, destined to disappear almost as soon as they form; those from larger bullets consume them in an endless cycle. The violence of the scene disturbs me. Water can be so tranquil, but sometimes it is this instead. And I know that although the darkness of the night masks my reflection, it is starting back at me; I’m scared to death of seeing it.
In the distance, a lightening bolt tears through a cloud like a knife through innocent flesh. For a fleeting moment, the world is bright. But a fleeting moment is long enough. In the puddle, now a small pond, I see the distorted image of myself. Cotton clothes soaked in blood and rain clinging to the frame of a hollowed body. A crooked nose, the tangible reminder of a life measured in the number of fights and fuckups. Scars and scratches and bruises and wounds. Fear and guilt and rage and disgust. Cold, bloodshot eyes that have witnessed death. Calloused hands that have felt it. A wild beard hiding thin lips hiding rotten teeth hiding sickening secrets.
I sit up and reach into my pocket, and the metal feels cold against the skin on the underside of my hand. Rubbing my forefinger against the trigger, a core-shaking cry escapes from my mouth for the first time in my life. It is so loud and desperate to be heard that it drowns out the thunder of the night. Tears begin to flow down my cheeks, and my body shakes with sorrow. I feel more alive – more human – now than I have felt for as long as I can remember. I raise the weapon to my mouth, bite down on the barrel, taste the metal, and pull.