The woman sits before her computer. Her eyes scan the page for the comments from her peers. Each and every comment, either bad or good, she reads and takes to heart.
Her life is like the comments made by the people who like her, strive for perfection. Someone is always unhappy with her performance. She realizes at last that she can’t please everyone. For once, she is going to please herself.
She sits back and closes her eyes and thinks how life is all about control. First it’s your parents, then it’s your teachers, then it’s your employer or spouse. Always control.
She gets up from her chair at the computer, and walks up the stairs to her bedroom. The walls of her room are covered with pictures of her life. She looks around and smiles. She goes to her closet and finds the big black box hidden under piles of college degrees and clothes that once fit her body.
She opens the box. The strong metallic smell flares her nostrils and brings back a flash of memories of moments spent in competition. Her hands shake as she lifts the gun from it’s case.
Control she thinks, now I am the one who is finally in control of my life. She lifts the gun to her face, closes her eyes and takes a slow deep breath in. She lets her mind wander to the happy times as she slowly pulls the trigger.
The click of the empty chamber vibrates off the pictures of her life and the happy times in her mind. She smiles to herself. Yes, she thinks, I am still in control.
She places the gun back in the box and puts it back under the degrees and once worn clothes. She looks at the clock on the bed stand and realizes it’s time to pick up her youngest son from soccer practice. She grabs her keys and leaves secure in the knowledge that one day when she is no longer needed, no longer in control, she will fill the chamber with the bullet that will end her existence.
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