The load on his shoulders felt lifted somehow. He had been feeling like shit for the last couple months. Life was becoming almost intolerable of late. But now, now he felt good again. He felt almost at peace.
It took him a long time to figure out what to do, but now it was all working out. The plans he had made, the people he had met, all of it meshed together in a way he had not expected.
As he walked he heard the jingle in his pocket and a smile graced his once unhappy features. A tune rattled off in his head as he hummed what parts he knew while walking through the front door of his house. It felt empty, as it always did. His parents were seldom around. Today he counted on their absence as he began to make himself some food.
There was rarely a time that he would spend all this time on a meal for just himself. But as he rolled the enchaladas and placed them all in a pan, it was worth the effort this once.
The meal was a delite, it had been so long since he had had something homemade. As the memory of his mother's cooking entered his mind, he couldn't help but to feel sorry for what he was about to put her through.
Wiping his eyes, he pushed the memory away, rekindling the happyness he felt prior to the meal. He packed up the leftovers, leaving a note for his family and a date on the package so they would know when to throw it out. He cleaned the dishes, and put all the things he had gotten out back where they needed to go. He was going to make this as effortless as possible for them.
He glanced at the clock, making sure he still had time to watch his show. As he laughed at the antics of the people in the cartoon, he missed the times he had once done this with his sister, when they were children. He longed to hear he laughter again, just once more. It had been too long.
Turning off the TV, he set off for his room, finally getting to the end of it. All of it. He reached under the bed and brought out his guns. The pistol would be easy, but he couldn't take his eyes off of the .22. It was his father's. Mabey he might get the message then.
He pulled them from their places and walked down to the kitchen and placed the guns on the bar as he pulled the shells from his pockets. This was not the way he wanted to leave them, but he had no other choice. He just hoped they would understand. Looking back on the guns, he made his way to the garage to finish making his preperations.
The skin nearly flew off of him as the doorbell rang. He rushed out to the door making sure it was not an unwanted guest. Breathing sighof relief, he opened the door to the man that stood before him. His brother, or as close as he would get. He and the man talked for a moment, then went straight to work. Each of them grabbed a gun and started to the garage. As his brother walked out, he looked back, knowing that this was the last time he would ever see his home. A tear fell as he went to the garage.




His parents came home. The house was clean. It was strange, as usually there would be a mess or people making a mess, friends of their son's more often then not. His father went upstairs to find him, as the mother opened the fridge. The note he had left fell to the floor. As the father came back downstairs, the mother picked up the note and held it for them to read.
I'm sorry.
This was not the way I wanted it, but it's the only way I can think to end this sorrow that built up in me. I am not coming home. I took the guns. I will need them for where I am going. I also took my car, and a bag of stuff from my room, the rest you can keep or sell. I've left this life, I want a new one, and the only way I can do this, is if you aren't in it. I love you both, but this has to be good-bye. By the time you read this, I plan to already be out of state. I hope for the best.
END