Last Shot: A Short Tale of the Absurdity of Life and Death
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Today is the perfect day to die. Bernard is the type of man that accomplishes all that he sets out to—and easily. He's intelligent, hardworking, and completely unfamiliar with failure. His only complaint—the singular source of the inner anger bubbling within him—is that no one else in the world recognizes that. It's time to force them to. Bernard's had enough. Enough of the complete absence of respect in his life, of being looked down upon, of being the only person in the world—it seems—who truly sees the reality of his life and what he deserves acknowledgment for. In fact, that recognition is way overdue. And that makes Bernard's blood boil. Today is just like any other day; Bernard has planned and prepared for every aspect. His heated rage stews just under the surface, just more fuel for the fire. He will accomplish this one goal as he has all others. Another success, his ultimate success. And he'll have made his blissful escape. The final statement will be Bernard's. At last. The perfection of the execution of this one, final achievement will be undeniable. Bernard will be free of this ridiculous world—passing calmly from his lifetime of frustration—and the world will realize its significant loss. They won't be able to take away—or look away from—what he's about to do. If he succeeds. But of course, he will. Why wouldn't he? He always has. He's dead set on killing himself, as many times as it takes.
