Roulette
After revising it one more time, he left the note on his desk, where someone would eventually find it. Battle-scarred thoughts tumbled in his head as he headed towards the drawer where his father's old gun lay. He knew no one would care, no one ever had before. A tear rolled down his cheek as he picked up the dusty old gun. He almost hoped it wouldn't fire, being as old as it was, there was that one variable. The bullets were buried at the back of the drawer, behind the box of envelopes. Steadying his shaking hand, he picked one bullet out of the box. It was dull and grey, having lost it's shine over the many years. Slowly he loaded it into the gun's barrel, as he thought about using it roulette-style. At least it would be a surprise that way. He spun the barrel after it latched back into the centre of the silver revolver. As he held the gun to his head, the tears streamed down his cheeks. His knees were shaking, and almost loosing feeling. He wondered if the note he left was sufficient, maybe he should go back and check it again. "No," he thought, "It's fine. Just get it over with." He gripped the handle, and with little hesitation, squeezed the trigger. *Snap* It was a blank. One down, 5 left. He considered sparing his life again. Maybe it was worth living, even with all the unfairness. He gripped the handle again, and hesitated before pulling the trigger once more.
He dropped to the floor, eyes clouding over, blood pooling around his head. And just before he went, the last thing he heard, was someone call his name.....
[b][i]Earlier that day .[/i][/b]
Lana watched Whitney's red truck pulled up in front of the Talon as she listened to Clark's conversation with Chloe. It was obvious to her that Clark previously had feelings for her. She herself thought she felt a spark with him. But now Lana realized that her chance was up at a brand new relationship, a relationship with Clark Kent. As Whitney entered through the Talon doors, Lana walked up to him. "Whitney, we need to talk," she said, looking up at him. She saw tears in his eyes as she searched them. "What is it? What happened?"
Whitney swallowed back his tears, "Uh, you first." he said, uneasily.
"I think we should break up." Lana said, steadily. Suddenly, she regretted saying those six words.
Angry tears mixed with the ones from before in Whitney's eyes as he turned towards the doors. Quickly he exited, flinging the doors open harshly, nearly snapping them from their hinges. With deep sorrow and hot rage, Whitney sped away in his truck.
Clark stood up from the table and went over to Lana. Lana was leaning in the door frame, watching Whitney's truck speed away. "Lana? Is everything okay?" Clark asked.
With a blank expression, Lana simply said "Yeah." and walked past Clark, back to the counter. Confused, Clark went back to his discussion with Chloe.
Whitney went back home, where many cars belonging to friends and family were parked. Silently he walked past the mourners and went upstairs towards his room, where he pulled out a pen and paper. After locking his bedroom door, Whitney sat down at his desk and began to write:
Dear Mom, friends, and family;
My life used to be great. I was star quarterback of the high school football team, with a full scholarship to Kansas State. But I gave that up. I gave it all up to help my father. And now he's gone, as well as the scholarship. I never wanted to stay in this God forsaken town, and work in a department store. There was a life ahead of me, a good one. Now I'm left with nothing, no path to follow besides following my father's footsteps on a journey to a bad heart. My father used to be a strong man, the strongest I knew. My idol. But he's gone, and I have no one to look up to anymore. There is no point now to continue my life. I'm sorry to leave like this, I know it's a bad time. But I love you, Mom, and I'll see you again sometime. I want you to know that it's not your fault Mom, nor Lana's. I love her more than anything. And it will be a long time until we are united again, but my love for you and her will last forever.
-Whitney Fordman
After revising it one more time, he left the note on his desk, where someone would eventually find it. Battle-scarred thoughts tumbled in his head as he headed towards the drawer where his father's old gun lay. He knew no one would care, no one ever had before. A tear rolled down his cheek as he picked up the dusty old gun. He almost hoped it wouldn't fire, being as old as it was, there was that one variable. The bullets were buried at the back of the drawer, behind the box of envelopes. Steadying his shaking hand, he picked one bullet out of the box. It was dull and grey, having lost it's shine over the many years. Slowly he loaded it into the gun's barrel, as he thought about using it roulette-style. At least it would be a surprise that way. He spun the barrel after it latched back into the centre of the silver revolver. As he held the gun to his head, the tears streamed down his cheeks. His knees were shaking, and almost loosing feeling. He wondered if the note he left was sufficient, maybe he should go back and check it again. "No," he thought, "It's fine. Just get it over with." He gripped the handle, and with little hesitation, squeezed the trigger. *Snap* It was a blank. One down, 5 left. He considered sparing his life again. Maybe it was worth living, even with all the unfairness. He gripped the handle again, and hesitated before pulling the trigger once more.
He dropped to the floor, eyes clouding over, blood pooling around his head. And just before he went, the last thing he heard, was someone call his name.....
* * *
Lana waited anxiously in the hospital waiting room, trying to comfort Mrs. Fordman. Whitney had never told her that his father had died that day. She wouldn't have broken up with him if she knew. But that wasn't what mattered to her at the moment. It seemed like hours ago, when Mrs. Fordman called Lana from the hospital, and told her that Whitney had attempted suicide. Of course, it wasn't that easy for Lana to understand over the phone, since Mrs. Fordman was in hysterics. Suddenly, a doctor came into the waiting room and walked over to where Lana was. "We expect he'll be waking up in the next hour or so, if you two would like to stay in his room until then." he said, solemnly. "Thank you." Lana said quietly, and helped Mrs. Fordman towards the ICU. They arrived at room 168, and took the two seats beside Whitney's bed. Lana felt sick looking at him, with blood-stained bandages wrapped around his head. She was grateful, though, that his aim was off, and instead, shot his eye nerves. It was still horrible to think of, but she was grateful that he was still alive. Just over an hour later, Whitney began to stir. Lana couldn't wait to tell him that there was hope for him, and that he might be able to see again with a new surgery procedure.
After revising it one more time, he left the note on his desk, where someone would eventually find it. Battle-scarred thoughts tumbled in his head as he headed towards the drawer where his father's old gun lay. He knew no one would care, no one ever had before. A tear rolled down his cheek as he picked up the dusty old gun. He almost hoped it wouldn't fire, being as old as it was, there was that one variable. The bullets were buried at the back of the drawer, behind the box of envelopes. Steadying his shaking hand, he picked one bullet out of the box. It was dull and grey, having lost it's shine over the many years. Slowly he loaded it into the gun's barrel, as he thought about using it roulette-style. At least it would be a surprise that way. He spun the barrel after it latched back into the centre of the silver revolver. As he held the gun to his head, the tears streamed down his cheeks. His knees were shaking, and almost loosing feeling. He wondered if the note he left was sufficient, maybe he should go back and check it again. "No," he thought, "It's fine. Just get it over with." He gripped the handle, and with little hesitation, squeezed the trigger. *Snap* It was a blank. One down, 5 left. He considered sparing his life again. Maybe it was worth living, even with all the unfairness. He gripped the handle again, and hesitated before pulling the trigger once more.
He dropped to the floor, eyes clouding over, blood pooling around his head. And just before he went, the last thing he heard, was someone call his name.....
[b][i]Earlier that day .[/i][/b]
Lana watched Whitney's red truck pulled up in front of the Talon as she listened to Clark's conversation with Chloe. It was obvious to her that Clark previously had feelings for her. She herself thought she felt a spark with him. But now Lana realized that her chance was up at a brand new relationship, a relationship with Clark Kent. As Whitney entered through the Talon doors, Lana walked up to him. "Whitney, we need to talk," she said, looking up at him. She saw tears in his eyes as she searched them. "What is it? What happened?"
Whitney swallowed back his tears, "Uh, you first." he said, uneasily.
"I think we should break up." Lana said, steadily. Suddenly, she regretted saying those six words.
Angry tears mixed with the ones from before in Whitney's eyes as he turned towards the doors. Quickly he exited, flinging the doors open harshly, nearly snapping them from their hinges. With deep sorrow and hot rage, Whitney sped away in his truck.
Clark stood up from the table and went over to Lana. Lana was leaning in the door frame, watching Whitney's truck speed away. "Lana? Is everything okay?" Clark asked.
With a blank expression, Lana simply said "Yeah." and walked past Clark, back to the counter. Confused, Clark went back to his discussion with Chloe.
Whitney went back home, where many cars belonging to friends and family were parked. Silently he walked past the mourners and went upstairs towards his room, where he pulled out a pen and paper. After locking his bedroom door, Whitney sat down at his desk and began to write:
Dear Mom, friends, and family;
My life used to be great. I was star quarterback of the high school football team, with a full scholarship to Kansas State. But I gave that up. I gave it all up to help my father. And now he's gone, as well as the scholarship. I never wanted to stay in this God forsaken town, and work in a department store. There was a life ahead of me, a good one. Now I'm left with nothing, no path to follow besides following my father's footsteps on a journey to a bad heart. My father used to be a strong man, the strongest I knew. My idol. But he's gone, and I have no one to look up to anymore. There is no point now to continue my life. I'm sorry to leave like this, I know it's a bad time. But I love you, Mom, and I'll see you again sometime. I want you to know that it's not your fault Mom, nor Lana's. I love her more than anything. And it will be a long time until we are united again, but my love for you and her will last forever.
-Whitney Fordman
After revising it one more time, he left the note on his desk, where someone would eventually find it. Battle-scarred thoughts tumbled in his head as he headed towards the drawer where his father's old gun lay. He knew no one would care, no one ever had before. A tear rolled down his cheek as he picked up the dusty old gun. He almost hoped it wouldn't fire, being as old as it was, there was that one variable. The bullets were buried at the back of the drawer, behind the box of envelopes. Steadying his shaking hand, he picked one bullet out of the box. It was dull and grey, having lost it's shine over the many years. Slowly he loaded it into the gun's barrel, as he thought about using it roulette-style. At least it would be a surprise that way. He spun the barrel after it latched back into the centre of the silver revolver. As he held the gun to his head, the tears streamed down his cheeks. His knees were shaking, and almost loosing feeling. He wondered if the note he left was sufficient, maybe he should go back and check it again. "No," he thought, "It's fine. Just get it over with." He gripped the handle, and with little hesitation, squeezed the trigger. *Snap* It was a blank. One down, 5 left. He considered sparing his life again. Maybe it was worth living, even with all the unfairness. He gripped the handle again, and hesitated before pulling the trigger once more.
He dropped to the floor, eyes clouding over, blood pooling around his head. And just before he went, the last thing he heard, was someone call his name.....
* * *
Lana waited anxiously in the hospital waiting room, trying to comfort Mrs. Fordman. Whitney had never told her that his father had died that day. She wouldn't have broken up with him if she knew. But that wasn't what mattered to her at the moment. It seemed like hours ago, when Mrs. Fordman called Lana from the hospital, and told her that Whitney had attempted suicide. Of course, it wasn't that easy for Lana to understand over the phone, since Mrs. Fordman was in hysterics. Suddenly, a doctor came into the waiting room and walked over to where Lana was. "We expect he'll be waking up in the next hour or so, if you two would like to stay in his room until then." he said, solemnly. "Thank you." Lana said quietly, and helped Mrs. Fordman towards the ICU. They arrived at room 168, and took the two seats beside Whitney's bed. Lana felt sick looking at him, with blood-stained bandages wrapped around his head. She was grateful, though, that his aim was off, and instead, shot his eye nerves. It was still horrible to think of, but she was grateful that he was still alive. Just over an hour later, Whitney began to stir. Lana couldn't wait to tell him that there was hope for him, and that he might be able to see again with a new surgery procedure.