In a cluttered closet within apatite gray house off the coast of England, sat a woman in a cradled position, crying as she hid from her children. Her name was Melody Hawksworth; a wife and mother of two.
The war had torn her family apart. Her husband had gone to the fight, the children continually complained about their dad being gone, and Melody had to support the family as a single mom with no help. Keeping this family functioning was Melody’s job, but without the emotional support from her husband the job seemed impossible.
Her husband had promised to send letters every week to her, but they’ve stopped now, and the telegram she was now holding had the horrible written proof to what she had expected all along. This single piece of paper was all it took to break the fragile structure that kept Melody together.
Footsteps from outside in the hallway thumped loudly as Melody’s two children ran down it calling out to their mum.
“Mummy! Mummmmy!” yelled her eldest, Timmy.
Her youngest, Nathan, followed close behind his brother as he ran down the hall, unknowing that they had passed the closet their mother was huddled in.
Melody broke into a new fit of crying as she struggled with her instinct to be a mum, and her longing to be alone.
She stared at the paper in her hands that was soaked with salty tears and dripping black ink. Melody softly whispered to the paper “How could you bring me so much pain? And how can I continue on without my John?” She sniffled, forcing the tears to stop leaking from her sunken eyes. No one could replace John, no one was worth staying alive for anymore, and no one could convince her otherwise.
She remembered back to when she had hidden in here. Melody thought she had just picked it as a hiding spot at random, but she realized now that wasn’t the case. This was John’s spare closet, it was full of his stuff, and it smelled strongly of John.
His spare closet. He has a pistol in here in, just in case of intruders. I could end it. Right here, right now. I could end the pain. Melody slowly rose and peeked at the shelf in front of her that held the gun. It sat in the middle of the old shelf, just sitting there collecting dust. The gun’s dull metal barrel and worn hand carved handle called out to her, promising that it could bring an end to her endless pain.
“Is it worth it?” she called out to herself as she hesitantly reached for the gun.
It’s worth it, just grab it and pull the trigger, and the pain will be gone.
Melody grabbed the gun. It felt cold and heartless in her hands, but said so much more. It promised the impossible, but Melody willingly believed it.
Her doubt was fading, but guilt made her ask all the same, “Could I do it? Could I really kill myself?”
Of course you can! Haven’t you felt enough pain? No one should make you live through all that pain, so go on, end it! No one would blame you.
Melody’s mind felt clear, and the answer showed itself to her in a grand manor. She could do it, and she would do it.
Melody gazed down at the gun as it fell naturally into her right hand and the paper, to her left. She gripped it’s handle firmly and hovered her pointer finger over the gun’s trigger. Her hand holding the gun mechanically went up to her mouth. The cold taste of steel covered her tongue as the gun slid in. Melody was ready, she was going to pull the trigger.
“Mummy?” Are you in there? Are you stuck in the closet?” Timmy asked from the other side of the door.
“Oh God!” Melody mumbled around the barrel in her mouth.
The children, I was going to kill myself and leave the children! I can’t do that to them! It would scar them for life!
But what about your freedom? Would you give up your peace for them? And what about the children? They’ll feel just as miserable as you when you tell them that their father is dead.
But I can’t leave my children!
Then take them with you.
Melody body went cold, and her skin went pale. She turned around and faced the door. She couldn’t leave the children to see her dead corpse bloodied and on the floor, that wouldn’t be fair. She’ll just have to take them with her. The gun promised it could.
She lowered the gun out of her mouth and clumsily aimed at the door, now unable to suppress her hand from shaking.
“I’m sorry my loves, but I can’t leave you here, and I can’t stay here. God forgive me.”
Two gunshots echoed throughout the house and were lost to the sound of crashing waves against the sand. An eerie silence then settled upon the house; one so silent that the house itself never thought possible. It was soon broken by a last and final shot, a collapsing body, the clattering of a gun, and the falling of a crumpled piece of paper.