Decaffeinated = Homocidal

His head slumps, eyes welling with tears. He was just tired. Too many hours at work, house occupied by family, time occupied by nothing. He was just tired.
A cranky two year old and aggravating older brother were not the people he imagined sharing a bed with when he graduated college. He had lost his room to common courtesy.
He uncaps the bottle, swills it in his mouth, swallows slowly. Tonight was a longer night than he’d thought it be. How the hell does this happen? He wanted to be a cop. He wanted a uniform, a gun, respect.
He got a large computer chair that doubled as a bed. He knew he had to snap out of it. That there would come a day when things would get just better. There must be a way to make it happen, lives don’t turn around on their own, he knew there was a step he had to take.
Deciding to kill time first, family and self second, he clicks on a search bar, looks for a way to pass an hour. He doesn’t remember how he finds it, a small hyperlink, Ficly. He clicks it. The killing can wait til later.

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