Kyle spun the revolver’s cylinder like they do in the movies. Spin, slap-closed, jam barrel to temple, pull trigger. Easy. Well, the spinning was easy at least. Kyle spun and spun the six chambers full of sleeping pills while debating whether it made more sense to eat the barrel instead of the temple thing. Regardless, Kyle wanted to die. He’d had enough. He passive-aggressively joked about being a character in a video game where the player had fucked up and completely botched the mission, and decided to just run around throwing grenades until either the police shot him down or he made it to a roof worthy of a swan dive. Kyle was not well. He was of the mind that the world would be better off without him, or worse, completely indifferent.
Spin the cylinder.
Slap it closed.
Press it to your temple.
No, put it in your mouth.
Think about all you could have accomplished if you weren’t such a lackluster zilch of a human.
BZzz went the cylinder.
She never would have left if you focused more on her needs than your bullshit, flight of fancy, completely irrelevant, hobbies.
Snakt, as it closed.
You’ll never amount to fuck all at this rate. Might as well give up the ghost…
CLICK, back went the hammer.
Notice the sound from the corner of the room…
Your job is meaningless degradation, and the polar opposite of how you thought you would make ends meet.
Joke’s on you, stupid. You don’t make ends meet.
Dad gets sad and introspective when he thinks of where he failed you…and you him.
Think about Mom…
Notice the sound from the corner of the room growing louder. Is that…panting?
From the especially darkened corner the sound grew louder, like someone was using too much soap to lather their enormous hands.
“Ffuuucking…do it…already…” a shuddering voice whispered.
Kyle pointed the shaking barrel at the darkened corner. “Wh—who’s there?” he asked. The sound of lathering slowed and quieted. “What is this?” There was a long pause while the lathering sound puttered to a halt.
“What this is,” growled the darkened corner, “is a goddamned tease!” Panic gripped Kyle. He lunged for the lamp on his nightstand and turned it on. The bulb immediately blew with a sharp pop. “That’s the sound your little gun should have made! Sorry, it’s… I’m just frustrated. We were so close, and then I screwed up and got too loud. My bad, Kyle. Could we just, you know, start over? Pretend I’m not even here. You’re feeling worthless, and nobody loves you, aaaaand…go.”
“Who are you and what the actual fuck is happening? Did I already kill myself and I’m in Hell or something? Are you the creep in apartment 5C everyone complains about peeping into windows from the fire escape? What is this?”
“I’m—The moment has passed anyway—” the darkened corner muttered and sighed to itself. “I’m a Calamity Demon, Kyle.”
“You…cause calamities?” Kyle asked, the barrel of his revolver trembled.
“Might as well set the gun down, you’d only make a hole in the wall.” Kyle listened and placed the gun on the bed next to him. “So, yeah, at first, I used to go around starting simple shit, but things change, you know? Cause a stupid squirrel to fight another stupid squirrel over a bagel chunk in the middle of the street, causing a car to swerve into a pole, causing a power outage, causing someone’s alarm clock to not go off, causing them to be late for work and rush up the stairs to a train platform, causing them to trip into a lady taking her kids to the city to see a dinosaur exhibit, causing her to fall onto the tracks as a train arrives, causing blood and mom chunks to traumatize the kids, causing them to grow up into damaged adults, causing one of them to—”
“—My mom was…y-you’re talking about…me?” Kyle stammered.
“—I was getting to that, Kyle. I also was going to mention that the squirrels weren’t the first domino. There’s the bird that dropped the piece of bagel after being startled by a laser pointer that was intended to blind an airplane pilot (that’s a whole other story, though). Oh! And the guy who dropped the bagel piece in the first place because a sliiiiight gust of wind threw his three-point shot to the garbage can off and he was too distracted to pick it up. And why was he distracted? Well he—”
“–DID YOU KILL MY MOM?” Kyle shouted, interrupting the Demon’s reverie.
“No, no…Kyle, the train did. Well…okay, yes—sorry—I thought we were being literal for a second there. Yes, I caused all those things to happen.”
“So you’d, you know…”
“Tell me why, damn it!” Kyle demanded. Bewilderment and anger buzzed in head like pissed off wasps.
“SO I CAN JERK OFF, KYLE! OKAY?” roared the Demon. “Watching people off themselves is like, the only thing that gets me off these days, okay Kyle? It used to be executions, or plague sputum on the blouses of dying aristocrats, or—or—maulings (lowercase god, how I loved a good mauling). But these days, you humans are so good at destroying everything around you that nothing is sensational anymore!”
“What can a demon do when everything is ramped up to ridiculous levels all the damn time? You know? Like covering everything you eat with hot sauce so there’s absolutely zero fucking nuanced flavor. There’s just—just—heat!”
“You’re basically saying you’re—”
“So, the long game, the slow burn, was the only thing to get me to nut.” The Demon continued. “Complex causality bullshit—calamity leading to calamity that ultimately ends with—”
“What, Kyle?” The Demon sighed. “You keep interrupting me. What is it?”
“You’re a fap demon.”
“No I’m not, that’s not what I—”
“Fap Demon.” Kyle stated.
“I am one of Hell’s Legion!” Sower of discord and—”
“I do more than that, you know! Are you labeled a—a—Poo Person because you defecate?”
“I don’t set up a series of elaborate nonsense in order to take a dump. You’re just incredibly fucked up.”
“Well, duh, Kyle. I’m a demon.”
“You-–!” The Demon caught himself and exhaled wearily. “Look, the moment is ruined, and I’m sorry I got carried away. Could we—you know, start over? I went through a lot of trouble setting this up, and I was so close! My…bits are beginning to ache.”
“Fuck you, man!” Kyle shouted, raising his middle fingers. “You killed my mom just to yank your crank while I blow my brains out? Get the fuck out of here, you pathetic piece of shit!”
“My bits are aching, Kyle!” roared the Demon.
“There’s zero chance I’ll ever think about killing myself now! Look!” Kyle opened the revolver’s cylinder and let the bullets fall to the floor. “Out. Now!”
“Inconsiderate, Kyle!” shouted the Fap Demon. “Fucking tease!” And with that, the shadow lifted from the corner, leaving Kyle alone with a deeper understanding of how things had come to pass, and an unshakeable—albeit spiteful—desire to live.
*Not all of us has a demon in the corner of the room to piss us off and stop our thoughts of self harm. Most of our demons are in our head and are just as deserving to be told to fuck off, but it isn’t so easy. I’ve been dealing with these thoughts for a long, long time. I know these feels very well. If you have thoughts of self harm, you’re not alone and there is help for you. You are important. You are significant. You are worthy of happiness. Yes you are, shut up. Tell your demons–in the immortal words of Wesley Willis— to “suck a bulldog’s shitty ass”.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Hours: Available 24 hours. 800-273-8255