I had written the letter by candlelight the night before. It was to be my final statement before my disappearance, tying up loose ends and things of that nature. I had come to regard it as a magnum opus of sorts, the culmination of all that was me, 23 long years of life distilled into a brief paragraph. It did leave much to interpretation, skipping over the finer details and instead settling only on the circumstances surrounding my sudden departure—but I trusted Otto, the bright young lad he was, to be able to read between the lines. 

My plan had been in motion for about three weeks by that point. Three weeks which I had spent shooting a newly acquired pistol at fences and dirt, familiarizing myself with the mechanics, making sure that come the time for my most disagreeable actions there would be no mistakes of any kind. It did pain me, at least a little bit, to leave Otto all alone. The thought of his disappointment had an acute sting. But he needed it. We both did.

Waking up on the day of I was unusually energized. It was like I had become the air around me; I could feel everything. I snapped myself out of bed and gently moved my pillow to the side. Underneath was the gun, which sat perfectly upon my pristine white bedsheets, as it had for every night since I bought it. Wonderful, I thought. I placed the pillow back on top of the delicate metal object, gave it a small pat like one would a dog, and made my bed.

Otto and Mother would both be out till dinnertime on some sort of shopping excursion, as was often the case on Fridays, leaving me free to waste my time however I pleased. I had slept in, which was good as there was nothing left to do besides wait. I skipped lunch and breakfast, instead opting for a cigar for each. Mother, and by consequence Otto, did not like cigars but neither was home and as such I could indulge myself a little. In between my ‘meals,’ I polished my gun and walked through my plan what must’ve been a thousand times. Midnight. Out of my room. Cross the hall. Quiet. Midnight. Out of my room. Cross the hall. Quiet. The quietness was the hardest part, the floor always had a tendency to creak—I had known this since my days of sneaking out as a child. But I had conquered the floor, snuck across it so much that it was calming. Release from stress was closer than ever.

Mother and Otto returned at about five, carrying with them a fresh hen for dinner. Mother was first to speak.

“Smoking again, Ed? Really?” The sound of her voice stopped me in my tracks, before I gave back a well-prepared response.

“There was one left—not nearly enough to gift anyone—and it’s a waste to throw anything away, so I thought it best to make use of the time you were away. But I am sorry that the smoke did not clear out well enough before your return.”

“Just don’t buy any more. Please.”

“Yes.”

Otto gave only a small wave before retreating to the kitchen to help mother with dinner. He’d been doing much domestic work since Father died, which always struck me as peculiar because mother was able to handle it all quite well by herself before his passing. To his credit, it was a well-smelling dinner, though I’m sure (and hope for his sake) that that was more mothers doing. 

After what felt like far too long (too many cooks in the kitchen, I assume) Otto called me down for dinner. We took our seats and said a brief prayer, as was usual.

“Good dinner,” I said, trying to hide any excitement I had for the night’s plan. Otto and Mother both just nodded. Slightly rude, I thought. I thanked them once more after finishing my meal, again to no response. This was normal, though always annoying.

There were only five hours left.

Only five.

This will be good. He needs this. Five whole hours left and my mind was already racing. We need this. I paced around my room, periodically checking for the gun underneath my pillow, as if it could at any moment disappear from reality. Each time it felt more real than the last, as the time of enactment grew ever close.

Four Hours.

Three Hours.

Two. 

One.

Midnight came faster than I could’ve expected. Mother and Otto were fast asleep. It was time. I stopped my pacing—that was all I’d done since dinner—and carefully moved my pillow to the side, one last time. This time, though I reached out and felt the wood of the grip slide gently into my palm. It sent chills down my spine. I went over to the desk and grabbed last night's letter. It’s time.

Out of my room. Cross the hall. Quiet.

I had run through this time after time. I crossed the hall and opened the door, and saw Mother sound asleep on her bed. This is nothing, this is good, I thought, my sweaty hands gripping the letter and gun. The letter seemed, at the time of writing, the most professional way to handle such a matter, clearing up as many misconceptions as possible and hopefully diminishing the sadness that would befall Otto. Though, with pistol in hand, it seemed a bit lacking. It’s fine, Otto can handle, he needs to handle, I thought, trying to clear my mind. Breathe.

Slowly.

In. 

Out. 

In. Out. 

In, out, in, out in out inoutinoutinout—damnit.

Too fast.

I should really just get it over with. I gave the gun one last look, checking for any possible point of failure. Perhaps I should first say a little prayer? I slowly maneuvered the contraption so the barrel was directly on her forehead. No. I shan’t. Best not to alert God. 

I gave her one last good look, trying to decouple any memories I had once held so dearly from what was, at this point, effectively already a corpse. Goodbye. I put my left hand above my eyes, and closed them tight, trying to forget what I was doing. On the count of three. I can do this. I can do this. I need to do this.

Three.

Two.

One.

BANG!

“Sh*t! Goddamnit! No! Sh*t! No! Sh*t!  No!” I couldn’t stop myself from yelling. It was everywhere—she was everywhere. Her bedsheets grew ever red as I looked down at my overcoat, newly crimson.
For a moment, I was frozen. The world was frozen. Everything just a little piece of meat in an icebox. Then I heard a sound. The creaking of the floor outside Mother’s room.

Otto.

I turned around slowly and raised the corners of my mouth, stretching it into a smile.

“This is good. You need this. You’re a strong young man. You can handle. This is good.”

The next moments were all a blur, a fist flew, another loud bang, blood everywhere. Another.

Otto was alone. He needs this. This will be good for him.