The Once-ler sat on his bed, sighing. He really needed to control himself. His eating was a personal weakness. A bad habit he just couldn't crack. An unscratchable itch. One bite of an apple for energy turns to two apples turns to a bag of chips turns to anything in the pantry. He has to stop. He's just going to get more overweight than he is. Once-ler laughed bitterly. That's all he was. A fat fuck up, and everyone knew it. That CEO with the dough who used to be his best friend and brother until he got cash, his family who berate him for his lack of control.. everyone did.
He looked over at his desk. A gun laid there, loaded with a single bullet. If he could get it just right, it'd be over.
He didn't know why he had put in only one. If he had loaded the entire chamber, it would be easier. Yet he couldn't be bothered to put in the other five, it was too much work.
Another excuse. God, why couldn't he just follow through with his words? I'll diet today turns to tomorrow turns to after New Years turns to never. He got up on shaking legs, feeling disgusting with how they wobbled. How the fat spasmed as he moved.
He pressed a hand to his mouth as to not throw up, only for the sake of the carpet and discretion. Once he was certain he could move without projectile vomiting his past binge, he approached the desk. Trembling hands fumbled for the handle.
Tears slipped down his plump cheeks as he sighed, closing his eyes to try and comfort himself. If he didn't stop shaking, he would miss. Once-ler needed a clear mind and a still hand if he wanted this to be the end of his seemingly endless downward spiral. How low is lower than dirt? Nobody except him knows, because he's the only person that deep in a grave.
And what's a grave without a full coffin?
He wiped his eyes, a smile breaking onto his face as he spun the chamber. One-man Russian Roulette. If the bullet didn't fire, he'd get help. He'd try harder. And if the bullet did fire?
Well, he'd be grateful. Who wouldn't?
A choked sob escaped him, but he didn't hear. Everything was quiet. Only the chamber spinning, which he had been doing for 2 minutes straight. Finally, he let it slow to a stop as he held it to his temple. His finger tightened around the trigger, but he didn't squeeze it. Not yet.
He grabbed a piece of paper, setting it down alongside an ink pen. You know the rest.
After writing the short note to his family, well...
He pulled the trigger. And everything crumbled. White noise surrounded him as he felt the bullet go through his skull and into his brain. The last thing he remembered seeing was his two identical brothers kicking the door down, and his mother gasping as she began to wail.
And then he felt it. The warm sunlight shining on his shoulder. The soft, beautiful green grass beneath his bare feet. He had made it.
He had made it into his own little heaven.
