She kept daydreaming about the gun. There it was, in the little box. The men always kept it loaded, "just in case."
When her husband had first brought the gun into the house, she had not been pleased, but that made no difference.
She had never liked guns.
Now, however, she found herself thinking about them in detail- specifically, the sounds.
A bang, and then a silence.
The silence is what she was most interested in- being silent, and quiet, and still.
A sleep that no alarm clock would interrupt for her.
It's not that she was miserable.
She was just...tired. It seemed like the harder she worked at her job, the more responsibilities they gave her. Day in, day out, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night.
For years she had worked, and now she was just tired of it. She could have just waited it out until retirement...but she was tired of waiting things out, tired of doing the sensible thing. Tired of being a sheep.
She had often thought that suicide was one of the most selfish decisions a person could make...but now it just seemed like a way to get some rest.
She tried not to think of the shiny black gun.
"Stop acting like a teenager," she would think to herself. And the thoughts would go away...for a little while.
But the next time something broke at work or her husband ignored her or she hadn't gotten enough sleep again...
There it was again, in her mind, a bang and then a silence.
"It is finished. I have had enough," she would think, and she would feel her feet tingle, ready to move towards the box with the gun. And then she would think better of it, and try to change the subject in her mind. And go back to work the next day.
But one day, she knew, the timing would be just right, and she would finally get some rest.