Morning Ritual

As I sat there awakening from my dream-like state of fog that seems to be ever surrounding, whether it be sleep or the lack thereof, I realized that my morning ritual was left undone. So, I loaded bullet into the cylinder and give it a spin. Pulling back the hammer, I thought about the round I was using. It couldn’t be your standard run of the mill .44 mag round, for it could pass right through leaving me a vegetable. Potato or squash? Neither, because I was using a frag round, as to insure the job got done right. You see, the frag round breaks up into little bits as it hits the skull, and spreads out inside the skull, therefore liquefying the brain more efficiently as well as reducing the chances of an exit; protecting others if they happen to be nearby. Waiting patiently for the hammer to strike, the last image to strike my mind was of her. Then, click. Another loss, another day, so I picked up my near empty bottle from the night before, and took a swig of temporary relief, regretting the very essence of my existence. My final action was to light a tattered cigar that resembles the shambles of my heart, and carry on. I will survive, but not by my own will.