Jimmy smiled a strange little smile as he stared into the bathroom mirror.
He noticed the lines like deep crevices that creased his once youthful face.
A strange and unfamiliar glint in his eyes echoed his reflection and he smiled.
Terminal, yes, that was what the doctor said…terminal, six months at best.
Jimmy was familiar with that word as it has spelled its sad song once before.
He looked again into the mirror and noticed that the steam from his recent shower had clouded his image.
He took his finger and etched the words…Jan; I will always love you…
Turning away from the mirror he walked slowly to the bathroom dresser.
Opening the top drawer he pulled out the Smith & Wesson he kept there.
Terminal he thought as he spun the chamber hearing its obtuse click, click, click.
He looked back into the mirror once more and saw that the steam had cleared, but the words of his love remained.
He thought for a brief moment about fighting it again, the cancer but he remembered his late wife.
He remembered her pain and suddenly the cold steel of the revolver felt inviting in his hand.
Raising the 38 to his head, Jimmy pulled back the hammer.
With his finger on the trigger, he remembered the click, the smell of powder and in a moment before the blackness….Jimmy smiled.
J. Allen Wilson 3/18/2012