I stare down the barrel of a gun.

I don’t mind that much. What would I even miss? No one cared. No one saw. No one ever really wanted to help. And even if they saw me now—what would they do? Try to save me? Probably not.

Well.

Maybe Jack would. He’s a pretty close friend. He wouldn’t want to see me dead… right?

I’m not sure.

I remember him stealing my lunch once. Thought I wasn’t looking.

I was.

I saw everything.

Maybe he’d only be sad because he couldn’t take my food anymore. Doesn’t matter. He’s not here.

Maybe Sam would care—if he saw a bullet-shaped hole between my eyes. Maybe he’d even cry.

Though Sam was never a great brother. Always punching me. Jumping on me. Seeing me bloodied on the floor might actually excite him.

Not that any of this matters.

No one’s here.

No one’s with me.

Just me.

And the gun.