How sad. This is what she was brought to. Not some great end as she had hoped— expected. At least it wasn’t cliché, the cynic in her thought. On some degree killing herself like this was, it had been done by more than a handful, whether it was to themselves or another person. It was better than overdosing on pills, watching her blood slowly trickle out and fall across her smooth porcelain skin, or even making a noose and dangling from it. “I’m surprised she didn’t have to use more fabric,” she heard people say. At least I’ll go out with a bang. A small, unamused chuckle made it past her lips as she spun in the code on the tired looking black box. A small click let her know it was open. A sleek black revolver stared back at her; no bullets near, it was always loaded by one of her parents. “Taking time to load is risky,” she remembered them telling her, “you could die before you got the first bullet it.” Her brows wrinkled together, momentarily contemplating her next choice. She’d miss their voices, their nagging, their encouraging and help over the years. A roll of memories played in her mind. She knew her next choice.