Despair

The gun sat beneath the lamplight.

Black.

Silent.

Waiting.

His daughter's photograph lay beside it. Seven years old. Missing front tooth. Birthday cake frosting on her cheek. The picture had been taken two summers ago.

He hadn't seen her last week.

Hadn't heard her laugh.

Hadn't watched her blow out candles.

The court order sat somewhere in the apartment.

Or maybe it was a letter.

Or a bill.

Or a warning notice.

Everything had become paper.

Everything had become weight.

Across the table sat another photograph.

A younger man.

A younger woman.

Sunlight.

White dress.

Happier times.

He glanced at it.

Looked away.

Looked back.

Unrecognisable now.

His chest tightened.

Like invisible hands wrapping around his ribs and squeezing.

Air entered his lungs.

Never enough.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Faster now.

The room seemed too small.

The walls too close.

The rain outside sounded louder.

The darkness deepened. The light was lost to it. Devoured by it.

A car passed somewhere below.

Every sound arrived at once, yet muffled.

Every memory arrived at once, yet faded.

His daughter's birthday.

The arguments.

The slammed door.

The lawyer.

The bills.

The debt.

The loneliness.

The shame.

The promises.

The failures.

Each one hit him separately.

No sequence.

No order.

Just impact.

A hundred trucks arriving at the same intersection.

His heart hammered.

His fingers trembled.

The room tilted.

His eyes drifted to the gun.

The pressure built.

His breathing quickened.

His vision narrowed.

The room became a tunnel.

The photographs blurred.

The light faded.

The rain fell silent.

The panic reached its peak.

Higher.

Higher.

Higher.

And then... nothing.

All that was had fallen silent.

Not a thought nor memory brought joy or sorrow, and all that remained was silence within.

Despair.

Made using Daz Studio and Affinity Photo 2.