There it was. Sitting right there on the desk just begging to be fired. Tristan urged himself not to. It's not right. Don't do it. His body wasn't listening.
He slowly paced towards the gun. One step after another. What would his parents think? Nobody was home, nobody was around. The perfect time to do it.
He arrived at the desk. Come on Tristan... Don't do it! His fingers wrapped around the gun. His hand and arm shaked nervously as he raised the gun to his temple.
The cold metal tip presses against his tanned skin. Last chance Tristan, don't pull the trigger.
To late. The bullet was in the barrel and milliseconds later lodged in the side of Tristan's head.
Tristan was dead. Forever.
