Turn Off The Light When You Leave


I looked at the gun in my hand….

It was black and heavy.

It felt like a gun should…

An object that wielded instant death with a ¼ oz trigger pull.

My gun is a dark travel agent with 6 one way tickets….Destination unknown with a long layover in purgatory.

I was at the end of my rope, not the one with 13 knots, although I considered that route also.

I considered a neck tie around the ceiling fan, but I wasn’t doing this for shock value.

I didn’t want to hurt anybody else.

I wasn’t angry at anyone.

I didn’t relish the fact that a child might find me whirling around beneath the fan as if though I were sitting on the edge of an evil merry-go-round.

My eyes wide, my arms outstretched, my legs swinging, a silent scream on my blue tongue and white lips.

I don’t want to make nightmares, just quit living one.

But I was angry enough at myself to kill me.

There were pills on the small table beside me, and a bottle of vodka.

They were pills for what ailed you.

To make me feel better….

I had almost decided to take the whole bottle to make SURE I was healed….and feel nothing.

I didn’t want to be found after 3 days, bloated and green.

I didn’t want to puke all over myself as I tried to fight my body, who was trying to save my life against my will.

I didn’t want to mess up my brother’s bed, so I didn’t go there.

They might try to stop me, tell me they love me…

How can I explain to them that it isn’t them?

It’s me…

I thought about a nice hot bath, with a razor and hair-dryer.

But, I didn’t want to start a fire or mess up my sister’s tub either, so I didn’t go there.

They might try to stop me, tell me they love me, cry and beg, or laugh and tell me that it isn’t funny.

No… It’s not funny.

For once in my life, I am dead serious….


I’m in a nice quiet hotel now, I only paid for one night.

“No luggage” the clerk had asked.

“Only a gun and pills” I thought.

“No…” I said. “I won’t be here long”

“Check out time is at 11 am” the clerk continued.

“At least until you hear the gunshot, I was hoping more like an hour from now” I thought.

“Thanks” I said.

You should be thankful they say, in all things.

Thanks for nothing, life…..

I don’t feel thanks….I don’t feel hope…I don’t feel anything really.

Except for the gun in my hand….the barrel in my mouth.

The hardness of the barrel clicked against my teeth.

My tongue drew back from the bore as if though it were hot.

But it wasn’t….

It was cold, so very…very cold.

I tasted the oil on the gun. I tasted the old cordite.

Gun barrels taste funny…

I stuck my tongue into the barrel, and wondered if it would hurt…


If it would hurt…I thought I didn’t care anymore. I thought I just wanted out!

I could feel the gun trembling from indecision…

…click…. click on my teeth.

No…just my hand shaking.

The gun is all business.

It knows its job….

I could see the hungry brass eyes of the hollow points staring at me.

“Let’s get on with this” they said to me.

I heard a commotion outside of the hotel window.

I laid the gun down on the table, knocking over the pills.

The taste of the gun oil made my lips dry.

I went to the window.

I couldn’t blow my brains out with people right outside my room, the gunshot will scare them.

Maybe give them nightmares….

I couldn’t do that to strangers.

I’m not that big of an asshole.

I looked out the window and saw a man removing luggage from a car.

A woman had a child in her arms, swinging her around like a little top.Image

They were laughing.

They were breathless.

They were alive and standing less than 10’ from a man that wanted to die.

They all began to do the dumbest, goofiest little dance just outside my window, singing badly “Going to Disney World!”

The man picked up the future Mousketeer and threw her high in the air.

She squealed as she disappeared into the sun.

The mother jumping with fear and delight that her baby could fly so high!

I had to laugh at them!

They were so silly….

I laughed some more….

It makes me sad when I laugh….

The gun oil was no longer on my lips.

The coldness of the barrel was gone.

There was only the taste of salty tears and self loathing.

I flushed the bullets and the pills.

I hid the gun in a trash bag like a dirty book.

I opened the door and looked at the shiny people dancing in the sun.

They didn’t notice me, their happiness made me smile…

I bare my teeth when I smile…

I danced with them in my broken heart.

I too would try to fly once more I hoped.

I hoped….

No use hoping, can’t turn back now…

Even if it be on tattered wings, I will fly.

I tied the rope around my neck and stepped onto the chair…

I saw the small sign beside the door asking me to “Please turn off lights when you leave, Thx… The Manager”

I leaned forward, the rope biting into my neck, making my vision blur, holding my breath so I wouldn’t choke…


“I hope those kids have fun” I whispered into the dark room as I kicked off the chair and stepped into…..

About treyzguy

I am so full of self-confidence and crap that I would worship myself against my own will.... Under penalty of death.

9 comments on “Turn Off The Light When You Leave

  1. Whew. The tension is tight and the story universal, but the reading is good.

    • Thx. I know it’s kinda sad and macabre, but after RW’s suicide it really hit me how some people live so tragically and are convinced that there is only one way out. So selfish, so alone…
      When a soul such as Robin Williams takes the path of despair, it makes me realize something I never really gave much thought too; I’m only human

  2. Thx. You can delete it if you want. You know i wouldn’t intentionally be insensitive to current events. I just wanted to express the conflicts and despair and the waste, the “aloneness” the separation from what we consider rational thought. I won’t be offended, I understand perfectly. Thx again Charles!

    • Honestly, I’m going to see if anyone else says anything. I will admit that the timing was rather rough and I had trouble reading through it. Not because of quality, but it brought out uncomfortable memories. It’s well-written and I’ve known some people who voiced similar ‘odd’ thoughts when they attempted. I think it’s really just an issue of timing for some people.

      • I guess that’s why I did it. Suicides make me angry first, then comes the pity. It seems like I’ve had 3 Suicides within my family over the last 2 years and it’s the ultimate act of selfishness as far as I’m concerned. All 3 were successful, intelligent family people. People that you’d never expect to bug out like that, usually the last person you’d even consider a risk. *smh* I don’t understand it… How could I? The post was my way of putting the turmoil to myself, to see if I could imagine that darkness, to show the utter cowardice, not the act. I pity the ones left behind, not the quitter. People should be angry about by suicides, not understanding. With that type of thought, it will become an acceptable alternative to avoid blame or culpability. It will turn into a true, easy way out. Yes, help them. Yes, treat them…. Just don’t martyr them.
        Mental illness is a terrible thing. I ride that ride. If we keep attaching mental illness as an excuse for suicide rather than the cause, no one will take it as seriously as they should.

      • It’s rather complicated. I know a lot of people who suffer from clinical depression and it’s like a pit that you can’t find your way out of. The ‘reasoning’ that I’ve been told behind such suicide is that the person feels like a burden to everyone and it would be ‘best’ for everyone if they left. I don’t think people should be angry because that wouldn’t help those who suffer. Anger tends to make people feel worse and can drive them to suicide. Why stick around if everyone hates you? I think the seriousness of clinical depression and the stigma of mental illness be removed entirely. People need to feel like they can get help without being judged and others should feel like they can try to help those without crossing a line.

      • Yeah, I guess I’m angry because they were family. I spoke to my brother in law right up until the morning he killed himself. He never said anything, at all! I didn’t have a clue! I guess I feel like, if I had only known, I could have done something, anything up to the point of physical intervention. Survivors guilt I guess. Just sad… So sad

      • Survivors guilt is probably right. One friend who committed suicide was happy and chatty on-line up until the day. It’s like a mask to make people not worry about them. Maybe it’s an idea that they don’t want their misery to drag others down.

Penny for your thoughts (we won't resell them)

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Journalism so good... it's scary.


Decades of her words.

J and I Publishing

Creative Color Book Publications

Tony Flye


Everything Indie

Supporting Indie Authors with Tips, Reviews, and Services


Community manager for ReviewCreep.com - Exposure Platform for Wordpress Review Bloggers

Barbarian Writer

A Story For The Æons


Five true stories, every five weeks.

You Knew What I Meant

Errors and Intentions


Alexander Chee

Bending Genre

Essays on Creative Nonfiction

harm·less drudg·ery

defining the words that define us

Antariksh Yatra

Journeys in Space, Time and the Imagination

The Task at Hand

A Writer's On-Going Search for Just the Right Words

Mashed Radish

everyday etymology


Is this gentleman bothering you?

%d bloggers like this: