His fingers choked the bottles collar. Death grip applied, he chugged. As the overflow dribbled over his lips, he rested the bottle to his neck. Again, he dialed.

The message began to play, at this point he’d grown tired, his frustration continued to build. Pressing his forehead to his left first, he mourned.

His bloodstained clothing lay before him, neatly folded and piled awaiting his decision.

His tears collided against the rough wooden floor.

with a loud thump the back of his head banged into the wall. He pressed END and dropped the phone.

For a moment he paused, then again he reached for the mobile device. His fingers running over a new pattern of numbers this time. perhaps he thought to himself if I change the number.

He stuttered when the call was answered, as if part of him never believed he’d actually make this call.

“It’s over.”

He attempted to whisper the words, but they fell from his lips with such impact, the very earth trembled.

“It’s done. It’s over ma’. I did it.”

View this story's 1 comments.