Chapter 7

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he wept in the dark room as the shadows curled and whispered. It had been weeks and all he could feel was unbounding regret. it was his fault. he didn't know a lot but he knew at least that much. all of this was his fault and he would never live past this.

He caused this. all of it.

he was just a useless excuse for a human being and he should've just died.

that was it, that was the way forward.

he needed to die, nobody cared, not really. nobody would miss him, not really.

his father had fought in the war and the only other souvenir he had brought back apart from the paranoia and restless nights was an old army pistol. he fingered that same pistol as it glimmered in the low light, he had thought about this for so long.

there wasn't really much to—There was a bang and he put it away—

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