No Regrets
He felt the cold metal against his forehead, his finger on the trigger, ready to pull.
He felt nothing. He had no regrets.
Compared to the almost surreal stories of the UG— of the mysterious Game that controlled peoples fates, of the black hooded Reapers that had the sole purpose to hunt down and erase Players; the Players themselves, deciding their own life or death, and the Composer who ruled it all— life was meaningless, a bore.
The RG was monotonous, each day the same as the last. Wake up, get dressed, go to school, come home, do some homework, laze around, eat dinner, sleep, rinse, repeat. Each day held no surprises.
Nobody understood him anyway. His mind had developed way past its years; he found it hard to socialize with others his age. They didn't hold his interest anyway; they were just wrapped up in their own selfish little thoughts.
Life had no meaning to him, until the day he stumbled upon that small cafe. The WildKat.
Although the shop was often closed and the coffee overpriced, it was the owner that had first caught his attention.
At first, they made no contact. He would simply order a cup of coffee and he would serve it to him.
It wasn't until he mentioned the things he saw, that the owner paid REAL attention to him.
He still remembered that day.
He had simply remarked about a person being attacked by a giant purple kangaroo, expecting to be thought of as a kid with too much imagination, when a cup had shattered, and he was rushed into a small back room.
He was told he was special. And for the first time, he felt happy. Like there was actually a purpose in life.
Day after day, he would return to the cafe, where the now friendly owner would tell wondrous tales of monsters called Noise, and a special Game.
Although the stories interested him, it was the part about the Composer that intrigued him most. Something about having complete control over the city and people's lives ignited a spark in him.
He naturally asked how one became the Composer. The answer disappointed him.
It was confidential. Something about how the Producer was sworn to secrecy and had to
protect the Composer.
He didn't give up, though. He'd find out one way or another.
Eventually, he found out— through careful questioning— that for one to become the Composer, one had to work up through the ranks and defeat the current Composer.
However, the RG was getting in the way of his plans. So, he took the first step toward his goal.
He "borrowed" the pistol he knew his father hid in his dresser drawer.
He was alone in his room. His parents were away at a movie or theater production. How would they react when they found their precious son dead?
It didn't matter to him. His goals were more important.
He wouldn't miss anything. Nothing at all...
No regrets, huh...?
He raised the metal directly to his forehead, his violet eyes blank.
His finger moved to the trigger, not even hesitating.
He pulled.
BANG!
End.