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John looked at his glass of whiskey. He was already half a bottle deep in the smooth drink, but his thirst continued to be unquenchable. The Celtics’ recap was playing on the TV analyzing their win against the Lakers. John could not keep his eyes off the glass. The final remains of the smooth golden beverage caressing the ice. The beads of sweat formed on the glass that sheltered the whiskey were enough to make a full man thirsty again. John had a plan to drink until the memories faded away, but he could not get rid of them. John looked at the glass and saw his reflection, a sight that made him disgusted.
John’s mother died when he was ten years old, and it only left his father to take care of him. His father was a Vietnam veteran and worked at the factory making shoes. His father loved him but raised him with an iron fist. His father would threaten him with the back of his hand if he screwed up. When John would get himself into trouble, which he did quite a bit in his early days, his father would give him the belt. John knew to never get into trouble with the law because that would mean his father would kick him out into the streets, so John would make sure to avoid those kinds of scenarios. John loved his dad, but he knew his dad was too rough as a parent. As John would get punished for getting into trouble at school or when he got a report card that was not to his dad’s expectations, his dad always said he could do better and that he was disappointed. Those words motivated John to be where he is today as a respected detective in the Boston Police Department.
Although John had an estranged relationship with his father, he did not have a bad life. In high school, John had good grades and friends. He was also a varsity athlete in basketball and cross country. In high school, he met the love of his life, Ashley, with whom he eventually became married to. John had last seen Ashley nine years ago, which still pains him to this day.
John looked at his glass and saw his father staring back at him. He could see his father’s face hiding behind the beads of sweat on the glass. He could see the look of disappointment in his face. John laughed to himself and finished the remaining whiskey that called to him.
As John poured another glass, he thought of the infant abandoned in the dumpster. He thought of just how cruel life can be even to something as innocent as an infant. As the clinking of the ice to the glass rung in the silence of the house, all John could hear was the crying of a small infant.
“What the hell am I doing?” slurred John against the silence. “A poor innocent infant was almost robbed of life, and I am here drinking it away. I am a disappointment, and this is a waste.”
John was in pain. The sight of an abandoned infant, the look of his father’s disappointed face, all the bodies he found robbed of their lives was too much for John. He threw the glass across the room and fell to his knees. Tears ran down his face as his began fighting to catch a breath. John began to cry alone in the floor of his house.
“I cannot do this anymore. This is all fucked up,” John sobbed.
John went to the closet and grabbed his gun. John looked at his Glock 22 with relief. He could not deal with the pain anymore. John cocked his gun and put it up to his temple. He could feel the cold sensation of the gun against his head. As John wept, he put his finger on the trigger. John needed a long nap and instead of wasting away slowly, he would do it by his own hand.
Then the phone rang....