Weeping Angels

Part VIII: A Despairing Guitarist Walks Into A Bar...

That night, Kettu Kinson couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He kept thinking about the show, the overwhelming emotions that were now coursing their way through his overactive mind,

And Nina.

Why had she deemed him worth saving in the first place? If she had just left him alone, if she hadn’t been on that damned bridge, he wouldn’t be suffering anymore.

And suffering was the word for it.

Every heartbeat was a reminder of his meaningless existence, of his unwillingness to go on, and of the purest of miseries that he had ever known in his lifetime.

He couldn’t take this anymore.

This had to stop.

Now.

He pulled his bed sheets off of himself and walked over to his desk, his intentions clear, he pulled open the main drawer. Within it was a silver case, gleaming in the orange hued light from the street lamps below. He hadn’t dared open that case in years, afraid of its contents, but now, it seemed like his only escape from it all.

He reached down and picked up the case, it’s metal skin piercingly cold against his own as he set it down on the desk and flipped open the latches that held it securely closed and with trembling hands, he slowly opened it.

He stared blankly at the loaded nine millimetre handgun inside and took a breath. The gun that he had stolen from his father all those years ago to protect himself was still within its case, still loaded, and it still scared him to his very core.

It’s your only chance He heard that same familiar voice whispering to him as he slowly withdrew the gun from the case, clicking the safety off. His breathing became shallow and rapid as his pulse quickened. He slowly lifted the firearm until its muzzle pressed against his bottom jaw. He took one final breath and closed his eyes, preparing himself as his finger slowly caressed the frigid steel of the trigger.

Do it now. The voice commanded. Kettu was more than obliged to obey, and slowly, methodically, squeezed the trigger.

Click.

“Son of a bitch!” Kettu screamed, hurling the firearm away from him. It landed hard on the floor, spinning like a top until it came to rest by his apartment door. Of all the times for that god damned gun to jam, it had to be this one. He slumped down into his desk chair, staring at the gun that lay deathly still, it’s hammer still cocked back. A sense of overwhelming fear overtook him. What the hell had he just done? What did he think he was doing? He’d promised Nina that he wouldn’t try to kill himself again,.

“I’m only as good as my word, if I break it, what do I have?” His own words echoed bitterly in his mind, he could feel tears now, not of sadness, but those of pure horror streaming down his face. He knew that he couldn’t be by himself now, that he couldn’t even trust his own thoughts or actions.

He had become afraid of himself.

He scrambled over the desk and grabbed his phone, his hands trembling as he did so. He started dialling Nina’s number, but stopped. He couldn’t face her now, not after what he had just done. He started to whimper, feeling alienated and alone, and began dialling a number entirely out of necessity.

The other line rang, and rang for what felt like an eternity.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice responded. Kettu breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello?”

“Ben, it’s Kettu.” He said, surprised at just how fearful and broken his own voice sounded, but he never second guessed his words, “Man, I know it’s late, but I really need some help right now.”