A Depressing Story: Epilogue


I said nothing but my gun was still aimed at him. My lawyer didn’t move too but I could see that he was getting nervous and impatient, probably regretting his move. “They always regret everything when it’s too late,” I said to myself. I stared at his eyes with the coldest stare that I could manage. I could feel my eyes stabbing him, causing him to feel uneasy. “Any last words?” he said. “Checkmate”

I walked outside of my mansion, with blood filled on my face. My lawyer died as soon as I shot him in the heart and he was still shocked when I took the gun from his hands. Feeling stupid and betrayed, I lied on the ground and didn’t move a muscle. I’m sure that the police would come any minute now and take me away. Probably back to the psychiatric ward.

It started to rain but the cops didn’t come. Closing my eyes, I pictured myself to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe where I can be anything I want without anyone judging me, thinking that I am insane. I had always learned that you don’t choose to be who you want to be but instead, your life had been pre-decided the moment you were born.

Around me, I kept hearing that being crazy is not a choice but it’s something that you are born with but nobody seemed to practice what they preached. I had grown up to be teased and called names because I was just not as normal as the other kids. I pretended that I got used to being called a psychopath and people acting like I’m dangerous.

When someone acted weird or calling me a freak, I just laughed it off as being a joke and sometimes I will even tell a lame joke, saying that I will kill them if they don’t stop it. I guess I finally proved them right by killing two innocent people and their father and uncle. They may say I’m a cold-blooded psychopath but deep inside, I felt guilty.

I looked at the sky as rain hit my face. I know that if I die today, I wouldn’t regret it because I had had my revenge and everyone I know is now dead. I could feel blood flowing out of my body and I felt myself getting weaker. I could hear the police siren but I know they couldn’t save me in time. I imagined someone taking me away to a place where I can live happily as I always do when I was a kid. It turns that the meaning of life is a question created by people who regretted what they did with their life. As for me, I regretted not a single part of it.

The lady closed the book and both of the men looked at her, with an obvious question in their head. “So?” the younger person said. “Well, that’s a question you need to answer for yourself,” she said and walked away slowly into the woods, leaving the book behind.




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