The light that came through the window burned my eyes as I came to my senses. The throbbing in my head pounded as I struggled to arise from my bed when I heard a loud banging on the door. As I stumbled out of bed I struggled to remember the events of the previous night. I follow my feet as I go down the narrow hallway leading up to my door. Each bang at the door grew louder and faster following the rhythm of my throbbing head till I arrived at the door. I opened the door to find my usual guest: Mary Gibbs. She smiled charmingly as she invited herself in. Mary Gibbs was a woman of somewhat average height with alluring brown eyes, ravishing round red lips, and a striking smile. Although mostly covered by her fine lace pink bonnet, her hair was polished with an ash brown color. She was wearing an elegant yet plain dark dress that complemented her petite figure. Despite my plastered appearance, I could see her lovely image but she did not come with romantic intentions. She had come to collect money which we both knew that I had little of because of the fact that Mother had not sent off any money for over a fortnight. This woman was the debt collector for the horse races that I went to almost every day and she came as frequently as I went to the horse races. After she smiled at me she started to pace around me like I was her prey and finally spoke.
"Not any progress of what remains of your debt, I presume?"
"I was under the impression that I am in debt to that damn Jockey Club, the sole reason they send you every time is so I don't have numerous accusations of murder that I am in debt to them also." I laugh loudly conscious of the fact that I was probably capable of murder with the condition that I was in.
"I have grown accustom to the state in which you present when I arrive at the door. An exception to the state you display this afternoon: sheer madness. However, with any condition debtors presents themselves in, they stay debtors till the debt has become settled. Would you care to hear what you owe currently?"
"Undoubtedly, I grasp by in which the tone you speak with insinuates I have no say in the matter."
"You owe 300 pounds to the Jockey Club, particularly their Epsom Downs Racetrack. Presuming you will carry on the consumption of drinking heavily, I recommend selling any possessions of worth and that the gambling fancy comes to an end. Do you understand, Mr. Reed?"
"Certainly, I intend to make an attempt at your suggestions."
"Mr. Reed, in the event that you are unable to furnish a tolerable sum of money, I highly doubt my presence would be there the next occasion when you open the door. Additionally, they would desire far greater commodity than your debt."
"Threats do not frighten me."
"A threat was not my intention, John. Be cautious and perhaps sober."
As she says her last remark, I see her charming smile disappear into an appearance more serious and grave. She walks out the door and that was the last I ever saw of her.
After her departure, I decided to have breakfast. I attempt to have what can be found in the cupboard with very little preparation required. My breakfast becomes stale bread; leftover black pudding; raw beans; and half of a tomato that was bitter and shrivel. I began thinking about what she had said. It is out of her character to send someone to beat me senseless. I assume she is only the messenger and it is out of her control. The hardness of the bread interrupts my thinking as it collides with my teeth and sends a shot of pain in my jaw. In any case, I must consider her threat to be tangible and provide myself with some form of self-defense. What would be an effective form of self-defense? A knife? Perhaps a gun? A gun does seem extremely effective in comparison to a knife. I debate between pouring myself a glass of beer or just drinking the bottle and promptly decide on the bottle. The contents of the bottle I swallowed hastily identically as I drink at any other time. The usual consequence of the beer seemed ineffective on myself due to the amount I consumed. I walk into my unkept bedroom to follow her advice of selling my possessions that offer value. Perhaps that unavailing painting or that heap of books in the corner could be of value. Nevertheless, I doubt barely anything I possess could decrease my accumulating debt. Securing three hundred pounds is as hopeless as ceasing my consumption of alcohol. Perhaps I should drink myself to death, given that she likely will send those people, whomever they may be, to kill me. Unlikely that they coming here within a few hours perhaps Mother would have sent the money by then. I start to search for another bottle, in case I do need to drink myself to death. While I search, my movements are too rapid for my brain to catch up to and I black out in the kitchen. I had hoped that would be it and my life over. Instead I woke up on the floor with a broken bottle nearby and a bloody hand with fragments of glass jabbed in it. Blacking out became hopeless on the contrary so was drinking myself to death. I required a method that swiftly performed the deed before whomever arrived. I gradually came up from the floor and scrambled into my bedroom. The gun the gun. I hear a pounding on the door, they couldn't be here it hasn't even been a day and finally reach my bedroom. The door creaks open as I grab the pistol out from my nightstand. The gun the gun. Footsteps approaching and my senses start spinning only focusing on the gun the gun. I panicked and placed the pistol against my temple. Footsteps are coming closer, the gun the gun. The last memory I have is the noise of the gun going off.