One hundred words to tell a complete story. Beginning, middle, and end. It’s a tough challenge this week from the terrible mind of Chuck Wendig, but I did my best to meet it. Warning, it’s a bit dark.
Cancer. Fucking pancreatic cancer.
I left when she started crying. I took the letter with me, its portents of doom delivered.
I know what I need to do. No chemo. No stretching out the inevitable, until I’m too sick to do anything but wish I hadn’t done anything.
I walk to the closet. Beneath the linens from her mom. I open the gun case.
The barrel smokes. Her ex, a bloody mess on the floor.
I’m sorry babe. If I can’t protect you in life, I’ll protect you with death.
One more shot to go.
I love you.