METANOIA

MAGNUM

Barry pulled the modified Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver from the glove compartment and eyed it carefully. It was a present from his NRA member friend. A gift "for protection." They chose the caliber to match his size. There was a box of bullets as well. The gun was unloaded and slightly dusty. He blew the dust off and started loading it, keeping it low to avoid prying eyes.

"Well, she is a beauty," Lucy said as he slid his bony finger down the barrel until it rested lightly on the muzzle. His eyes glowed brighter than ever as the thorns on his body became more jagged.

Barry had only shot the gun once; when he first received it on his thirtieth birthday. He didn't know how to take care of it. Neither Melinda nor he wanted it in the house, so they left it in the glove compartment to rot.

The way he was sitting dragged his shorts up and his burned flesh tore off. Wincing, he batted at his thigh like a deranged ape to lessen the pain. The most recent concoction of the drugs he had taken was not as effective on his pain, yet Buddy and Lucy were still there, more vivid than ever, pointing out the irreparable damage done to his broken mind. Something he had ingested was peaking right now, perhaps a few of them simultaneously. Worst of all -

Barry had loaded the gun.

Buddy was touring around the car on his motorized unicycle, which occasionally left a sparkling cloud in all the colors of the rainbow. Barry wasn't sure if the cloud was from the unicycle or just him farting.

"Now what?" Barry mused aloud.

He was half expecting Seth to materialize out of thin air. Lucy was silent, and Buddy just shrugged his shoulders. The act made him wipe out into a puffy cloud. His unicycle flew up in the air.

A second later, he materialized in the back seat.

The hallucinations shrugged and remained silent.

"Some help you two are," said Barry.

In a way, your fortune breeds misfortune for the rest of the universe. To be a little more precise, because of your moment of glory, everyone else is robbed of that experience of delight.

If you win the lottery, that means everyone else has lost.

Then again, the same goes for your moments of misfortune, I suppose. It is your misfortune that breeds a sense of universal reward.

Barry felt the disappointment wrap an invisible hand around his heart. He had no clear immediate purpose. Sitting there alone, even his imaginary friends had let him down. Guilt is a personal thing that targets our mistakes. Shame, on the other hand, penetrates deeper than that. Shame is disappointment with our own entire existence. Barry no longer wanted to exist.

The gun was heavy in his hand.

The back of his neck burned.

His nose hurt.

His right eye hurt.

His jaw hurt.

His leg hurt.

His soul hurt.

Barry wanted to burn the world with him.

He started the engine and saw the gas tank was half empty. He drove to the gas station and filled up. He also had a reserve can and topped that off too just in case. He didn't know how long he was going to spend in the car in the upcoming days. A little backup couldn't hurt. As he filled his tank, he felt utterly alone. He could use some company, someone who understood him.

He reached into his pocket and grabbed a couple more of the pills he had taken from Taylor. He restarted the engine and started wandering the streets aimlessly, eating away the gas in his eco-friendly toy car.

Lucy was helping him navigate on the passenger seat. Thankfully, his annoying sidekick was snoozing in the back seat. Although the speedometer never rose past forty, together they drove on through the swirling streets at lightning speed, at least in his mind, perhaps even faster. His mind a punching bag, Barry drove through a forest of bright odors and salty sounds.

With friends like these, who needs enemies?