[ WP ] He had four day 's of stubble , an old shotgun , and a promise to break .

Softly strumming the strings of his worn down guitar, he hummed a tune long forgotten by anyone under the age of `` old-as-dirt,'' as he used to say. That was when humor tickled his lips, loved filled his soul, and poems ran through his mind. Long forgotten, these feelings. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the way it was. Her fault, he repeated. Her fault. 
 
 Her goddamn fault. 
 
 He played to distract his raging mind. To stall, to think, to try to reason with his already made up mind. But he knew there was no convincing his joy ridden being to act otherwise. He gripped the whiskey with his shaking palm and raised it to his pursed lips, the sting of the drink all too familiar on his tongue. He tried to strum again but could n't find the strength anymore. His heart could n't wander the planes of his conscious any longer. There's only so much pain even the strongest man could endure. 
 
 He ran his hand through his unattended facial hair as he swallowed his therapy, letting his eyes dart from picture to picture lining the walls. Memories of the years. Of a fading love. 
 
 Their smiles showed happiness but the mutual, hanging thought of `` something better'' poisoned their minds, always evident in their eyes. Never said but always acknowledged, never wanted but always needed. They assumed it was better than no feeling at all. He would rather feel nothing than what he feels now; what he knows he must do, that unstoppable fire in his chest. 
 
 Her goddamn fault. 
 
 He rested his weight on the wooden chair's handle and used it as leverage to raise up on his tired feet. He had n't slept since he'd barren witness to his destruction of hope. 
 
 Her moans. His hands on her hips, the same way that she would n't let him touch her anymore. The way she fucking looked in his eyes; that unforgettable stare. Every detail, every touch and shadow and sound like a slice to the throat, a strike to the gut, a horrendous crime against his very being as the man that protected her for all of those godforsaken years. A spark to his flame deep inside. Betrayal. Unforgivable betrayal. 
 
 He concluded that there is no God and Lucifer was lying in the next room; disguised in the curves of a woman that had once said, `` I love you.'' 
 
 A deep breath. Regret may have entered his mind for only a millisecond, but the imagine of her in their bed that night made the thought wisp away and hide in the back of his mind in cowardice. All he knew was rage now. He slowly turned and picked up his sturdy, reliable shotgun. He'd taught her how to shoot with this very firearm. Now this trigger would teach her a lesson not soon forgotten. 
 
 Her goddamn fault. 
 
 Switching off the safety, he turned the knob to the bedroom door and slowly walked toward where she was lying, the floor anticipating every step and every creak seemed to be a foretelling sound. Stopping for only a moment, he observed her resting face and how she breathed, a breath just as familiar as the taste of his whiskey. 
 
 `` You could end it now,'' he thought. 
 
 `` No,'' he immediately dismissed. 
 
 What happened next can only be reasoned as thus- a heart knows only love when it holds it, and when this is ripped away all a soul can cling to is revenge. 
 
 `` Wake the fuck up,'' he yelled drunkenly, her eyes opening immediately, training on the barrel pointed to her face. 
 
 She panicked. What else would a person do? `` Oh my god, oh my god, what are you doing? Oh god, oh god please help me, Jesus sav-'' 
 
 `` Shut the fuck up,'' he muttered, almost as quiet as a whisper but the anger behind it reflected a blistering scream. She fell silent. 
 
 `` I know what you did. What you've done..'' his voice fell off. He had so much he wanted to say but could n't muster the words. A tear streaked down his cheek, but he wiped it away quickly and pushed the barrel against her chest. She screamed. 
 
 `` I'm so sorry; you have it all wrong; the spark has been gone for years; I deserve to be happy,'' she begged and pleaded through her tears, her body shaking uncontrollably and her voice cracking in every sentence. He expected her words, he expected her pleas. He did n't care. 
 
 Her. Goddamn. Fault. 
 
 `` Daddy?'' 
 
 Their shared daughter was standing in the doorway. So young. Her third birthday was a month and a half ago. 
 
 `` Do n't watch, sweetie.'' The man said coldly over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving his wife. 
 
 If there was a God he would have stopped this already. Deep down, the man probably hoped that God would intervene. But no one came. 
 
 `` Daddy, what are you doing? Why is mommy crying?'' 
 
 The woman wanted to comfort her child with words but feared for her own life; if she opened her mouth the drunken man she loved may make sure she never spoke again. 
 
 Little did she know; he wanted to do no such thing. 
 
 `` Turn around, baby,'' he spoke calmly to to his daughter, no emotion backing his words. `` Go back to your room. Do n't come back in here. I love you.'' The small child refused to leave; the man being unaware of this, maybe too drunk or too distracted, he continued on with his task. Blissful ignorance, the stubbornness of a child. This would ruin her life forevermore. 
 
 He dragged his wife off the bed by the shoulder and placed her face-to-face with himself. She did n't fight him, she was almost paralyzed with fear. He pressed his forehead against hers, and dug the gun into her abdomen. She sobbed like he had never heard before. For a reason only he fully understood, looking through the eyes of the fire in his heart... 
 
 It made him smile. 
 
 With the swiftness and motivation of a starving animal, he pulled the barrel of the gun up under his chin. Looking her in the eyes deeply, communicating every dark emotion she made him feel for the past ninety six hours and every tear she made him shed in just one fateful second, he pulled the trigger and ended his own life only six inches away from her face. 
 
 The last thing he ever heard was his daughter's scream. 
 
 Then, and only then, did he feel regret. 
 
 And, despite everything, that unforgettable scream was his goddamn fault. 
 
 
 

