Hey Joe

Hey Joe

The ridges felt like valleys under his fingers. The pattern was embedded in his mind; but he kept hoping that on the next pass he’d feel something that would tell him that he had been wrong.

Something that would tell him that it was all in his mind.

Hope’s funny that way.

All the proof in the world could be staring you right in the face, but hope makes it seem like a shimmering illusion that could fade away with a wave of your hand.

The metal felt hard and cold under his fingers. The palpable weight of it anchored him in reality as hope threatened to pull him away into the clouds.

His mind was in chaos, turning over the memories. Finding the cracks he had missed or ignored before. Cracks that may not even exist.

But that’s what reality does to you. It shows you the fallacy of your hope. The more he tried to think otherwise, the more the feeling of the button in his fingers reminded him of what he couldn’t deny anymore, the more the gun in his other hand reminded him of how broken he felt.

All of it, all the memories, all the time and effort, all of it turned to ash and burnt him from within. Like a raging inferno crushing his soul.

The click of the lock broke him out of his thoughts and back to reality; his mind now calm and unwavering in his decision.

‘Hey Joe,’ she said, the shock and realization evident on her face, ‘what’re you doing with that gun in your hand?’

‘I’m here to shoot my old lady. I caught her messing around with another man.’ His voice blank and monotone.

The other man, his best friend in whose couch he was now sitting, seeing the proof of it with his own eyes, walked in and stood beside Joe’s wife, the smile fading from his face.

Both of their eyes locked on to the gun first, but slowly moved to the button in his other hand. The same button that was missing from the blouse she was wearing.

Bang! Bang!
.
.
Bang!