I woke up to the smell of iron, a loud ringing in my ear, the right side of my vision blocked. A streak of blood ran across my chest, blood dripping down onto my hands. I raised my hand to my eye. I reached my hand in, pulling out a bullet—the size of a penny—from my skull.

  I had failed again.

  I am still

  alive.

  Dropping the bullet, the wooden floor of my apartment creaked as I rose. Pieces of my vision slowly restoring in my right eye, pieces of my mind scattered over the floor and wall. I picked up the revolver that lay on the floor.

  Maybe if I try again, I can be free—once and for all, I can be free.

  How many times do I have to apologize?

  I said I’m sorry.

  I said I’m sorry.

  Tears began to fall, only from my left eye—the tear duct on the right not fully formed.

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  It was an accident.

  How long have I been alive since it happened?

  How long have I waited to die?

  A thousand? Two thousand?

  I’ve started to lose count.

  Maybe if—

  Knock knock.

  “Cain are you alright i heard a a loud bang”

  Knock knock knock

  Each knock getting louder.

  I grab my revolver with my left hand, raising it towards the door.

  “Let me in, Cain.”

  It begins to scratch at the wooden door, the voice unfamiliar.

  “I said let me in.”

  The scratches continued, over and over.

  I pull back the hammer of my gun.

  Even without the threat of death, pain still lingers.

  My hands shake.

  It starts to pound at the door— but as quickly as it started it was over the floor boards outside begin to creak but each creak more and more distant I raise my gun down and drop to the floor my back resting on the wall and begin to cry