Short Stories

I Can't Do This Anymore

Nickel exhaled. The smoke from the cigarette filled the room with a nasty smell. Everything was still, and quiet. He bring the cigar up to his mouth and smoked it.

It brought a great sense of relief to him. He felt tired. And stressed, which is why he whipped out the cigarettes in the first place.

He had gotten fired from his job a week ago, and hadn't been able to find another job elsewhere.

He noticed a picture drooping on the wall. It was a picture of his deceased wife and him at his wedding. He squinted at it, and started to shift in his seat.

He slowly got up, cigarette in hand, and slowly strolled to the picture. The frame was starting to deteriorate. And the pictures looked just as dull. It fit with the rest of his house.

Boring. Dull. Uninviting.

The picture within the frame had been taken twelve years ago. They were both smiling. Nickel was bent over to kiss her. They both enjoyed the moment.

And only then did Nickel realize how much he missed her. Her touch. Her warmth. Her support.

She was gone. She had been for eight years. He had struggled to keep up in society. Every day, he became a worse version of himself. The house became a scary place.

He had nobody.

Nothing.

Only now did he realize the tears. A tear dripped from his eyes onto the window of the frame.

He whimpered and tried staying strong. His hands and arms trembled. He longed to go back in time. See her again, relive his life how it should've been.

The picture dropped from his trembling hands. It landed with a thump on the hard floor. He couldn't help but feel like breaking down.

The cigarette was now also on the ground.

He was a wreck.

Suddenly feeling enraged, he jerked his body upward and stomped up to his bedroom. He started thrashing around, and ruining everything in his sight. Throwing blankets off, little alarm clocks, and the trashy computer he had.

But while trashing his room in a rage, he noticed something. A black pistol, sitting on his desk, behind the computer.

He stared, forgetting the anger welled up in him.

He grabbed the gun. It was cold and dusty.

For a long time, he just stared at the gun in his hands and did nothing. Contemplating. Was he really?..

No.

But..

No, I can't.

But it...

Hurts.

So.

Much.

I..

...

I can't do this anymore.

bang.

-

I feel especially bummed out today, thanks to watching the Vikings game. So, here is a sad chapter. Hope you like it. Goodnight.