"When a person dies, they don't die from a bullet — they die from the sum of their decisions."
I cursed my life. But in the moment of my death… I was honest with myself for the first time. I never thought my end would be this quiet. No scream. No final, desperate struggle. Just rain, falling from the gray sky like icy needles, and a friend pressing a pistol to my forehead.
"I… I'm sorry, Jordan." John's voice trembles — thin, broken — and it tells me he never wanted to bring me here. He was my brother. Not by blood, but by everything else that matters. By every scar we shared.
The cold barrel of the gun presses against my skin. The metal is so cold it burns. For a moment, I think I've been dead for a long time already — at least on the inside. The world blurs. The sound of the rain fades, as if someone muted reality itself. All I hear is my own breathing. Slow. Heavy. Endlessly tired.
I lift my gaze and look straight into his eyes.
"Do it," I say. My voice is colder than the rain. "Just shoot."
John closes his eyes. A tear falls onto my cheek. Warm. More real than anything I've felt in years.
"Forgive me… please."
Then the sound breaks the world. A short, dull bang. No pain — just darkness, settling over me like a blanket.
And I fall — not into death, but into a place where my story is only just beginning.