He was so peaceful and silent, sitting there at the computer as I crept up behind him. He thought he was alone. He had no idea I was there. But more than that, he felt alone. I could tell, I know the feeling all too well. It was too perfect. Too easy.
I felt the urge to cry. I didn't have any actual tears. But that feeling in your stomach where for a split second you just want to break down and let everything that you've been keeping so far away from your thoughts consume your entire being. But I composed myself.
He was looking at pictures. Pictures of people. Happy people. I knew what he was thinking. I knew. He was wishing he could have that. Happiness, and friends. Just someone, anyone, to connect with and share joy with. Share life with. I could be his friend. In another time, another life. If he turned around, I bet he wouldn't even question how I got into the house. He'd just welcome the company.
And I would be his friend. I wish I could.
But I have to do, what I have to do, to keep living like this. And I hate myself, but at this point, there's nothing I can do.
So I walked closer, slowly, silently. Took my pistol and placed the barrel to the back of his head. Before he could even react I pulled the trigger.
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