Suicide is the ultimate victory. It's the trump card that everyone has access to, but that not everyone is willing to use.

There is was.

Sitting so innocently on the cherry finished table, the last rays of sunlight that filtered through half-closed blinds reflected off its gleaming surface, throwing a mirage of colors onto my face, forcing my eyes to blur.

It would be so easy. Just one simple thought that would travel down through my network of nerves until the muscles in my finger contracted. That's all it would take.

Just that one thought…

I watched, detached, as my hand rose from my lap to hover over the shimmering object and then, slowly, to come to rest on top of it.

It would finally be over. The humiliation of always being second best, the fear that no matter what I, we, did, it would all fail in the end.

And failure meant death. If it was inevitable that we fail, that we should die, then why should it matter if death came sooner? I am the weakest out of the group, the burden, the misfit.

No one would miss me.

I watched as my hand slowly grasped the object. I watched as my palm cradled the handle of the gun. I watched as my fingers turned its barrel to point steadily at my face.

It hurt. It hurt so much to feel my heart chip and crack under the strain of the burdens I had to bear. The Shikon No Tama that I shattered across Japan, the death and destruction its shards brought. The power it gave to evil like Naraku. But even worse, even more painful then the torment and guilt the jewel brought me, is having my love rejected. Having ones heart tossed so carelessly aside at every crossroad hurt so bad.

So I left.

And leaving brought me to this table. Sitting, watching, as my arm raised, bringing the barrel of the gun to rest against my temple

Then there was nothing…

Nothing sitting on the table because the gun was gone, and there was no light to shine off the stained table because the sun had set long ago.

There was only an echo…

Maybe my reincarnation can do better…