It had to be the most run-down, disgusting motel I had ever seen. The type of place where cockroachs don't scatter at the flash of a lightbulb, and all types of creepy crawlys roam. The type of place people do anything but sleep in. Fine by me. I wasn't here for shut-eye. I sat on the warped mattress that stunk to high heaven and shrugged my backpack off. I pulled the 22. Smith & Wesson from my belt and held it in my hands for a moment, thinking about all that had happened the past month. All it takes is a few moments for everything you know to fall to shit. My children, my sweet beautiful childen, had been taken from me. My wife, my malicious whore of a wife had left me. She met someone else, a big shot lawyer who could afford anything. She did always have a weakness for material things, so I wasn't surprised she gravitated towards him. After she left, I was a wreck. She took all my money and dumped two children on me, which i couldn't handle. The government soon dubbed me "an unfit guardian" and took them. They are with foster parents, which I have talked to and trust, but they miss their dad. And I can only see them the second saturday of every month. My life was a wreck, and I wanted out. So that was why I was here. I placed the revolver in my mouth, and closed my eyes. The metallic taste of the barrel on my tongue made me pause. They say he who hesitates is lost. But this hesitation, this one moment, may have changed my fortunes and saved my life. I put my finger on the trigger, my hand shaking. Then, out of the silence, I heard a knock at the door. I put the revolver back in my belt, pulled my shirt down to conceal it, then walked towards the door.
