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Joshua remembers.
He remembers sitting on the bed, his hands and his face and his everything, just numb. The music hums at his door and creeps in through the cracks; jolly and festive and so opposite his thoughts, his plans. Outside everything is glowing: neon signs and rainbow lights, the falling snow lit up like a million floating lanterns. There is traffic and voices, laughter and music- noise, noise, so much noise - but somehow even now the snow makes everything sound so quiet and peaceful... So dead.
He remembers the way the gun felt in his hand, so blocky and surreal, like it was just a toy, not the real thing. It was not all that heavy, yet it pinned him where he sat, trapped him and his thoughts in that moment, that horrible moment.
All around him was light and joy, but he couldn't hear any of it, couldn't see past the smothering dark. It had been creeping in the corners of his vision forever, slowly surrounding everything that he saw. Now it would not go away. The darkness would not leave... So he had to.
His fingers clenched the pistol in his hand, and no matter how tight he squeezed, it still did not feel real.
He remembers the taste of metal in his mouth- the smoothness of the barrel, the smoky tang against his tongue. It hurt his teeth to bite down, but he did it anyway- tried to focus on the pain, the only thing he could control, the one thing that was his and only his. It would just take a second. One moment, one brief instant, and it would all be over. Just like that, everything would end... And he could finally start again.
He remembers shaking. He remembers the tears burning his skin; the silent, gentle sobs. The weakness, the doubt, the fierce loathing- because this is his one chance, the one moment where he will finally be completely and utterly in control of his own life, his own destiny. If he chokes now, there's no point. He'll never have the guts to do this again, never be able to look at himself knowing he was too much of a coward to follow through.
What if it doesn't work? he thinks. What if you don't get into the Game? What if they just let you slip by? Only those with a fierce will to live made it into the Game. Those with sudden deaths, traumatic ones- the souls that stood out, the souls best fit to fight for a second chance. He knew what he was doing, he had plans. They might see right through him. They might push him aside, ship him straight to oblivion.
Erasure. Non-existence. Was he ready for that? Was he willing to take that chance? To risk what little he had and loved, on the small chance that maybe he could get into this Game and survive?
He remembers the shaking. The tears and the pain and the laughter, the music, the lights- he remembers how quiet it all seemed, how fantastic and dreamlike it all was. He remembers the sound of feet on the stairs, voices calling his name, drunken knocks against the door as they implored him to come out.
He remembers the click. The taste of fire and blood... Then silence. Darkness, emptiness, utter nothingness- oblivion...
Joshua remembers death.
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