‘I a-o-it’, I say.
With a gun barrel pressing against the roof of your mouth, you only speak in vowels. I see he slowly tilts the weapon sideways and points it to my left temple. For a split second, I think he aims the gun at himself, but then I feel the cold steel touching my skin.
‘Do it’, I tell him, for I can’t wait any longer. They say your life flashes in front of your eyes before you are gone. It is not your life- it is your regrets. And right now, I cannot bare the thought of staying in this situation any longer. It kills you from the inside.
‘Shall I?’ he asks me smiling. ‘Do you really have nothing to live for?’
I suppose I could find a couple of reasons, but they are not worth mentioning. No kids. No real friends. A promiscuous wife. A raging boss. And a cubicle in which my life is mesmerized.
‘Do it already!’ I scream, and I can feel the gun press harder. My eyes are watery, and my heart is trying to beat its way out of my rib cage. My breathing is much heavier than usual, sweat is falling from every pore of my body and he holds the key for the exit of this torture between his fingers.
‘Do you know where your wife is?’ he then asks me. I can tell it’s a rhetorical question for he smirks as he pronounces the next words.
‘She’s filling the divorce papers’. The sentence nearly cuts me open.
‘So what are you waiting for? Kill me,’ I tell him, ‘there’s nobody around’.
I suppose daring him to do it will fasten the process. But the trigger is not pulled. Not quite yet.
‘You have no friends, no kids, no family, your parents are dead, not even a dog to make you company. Why do you bother breathing?’ I ask him. I can see tears filling his eyes more abruptly this time.
‘Then kill me!’ he screams, to the top of his lungs, and I can tell death is freedom for him.
‘Fine. I will oblige you’, I try to say generously.

So I take one last look at the mirror, fix my gaze upon my blue eyes, swallow roughly, try to make my trembling finger go still, and-