<sub>One second.

All it takes is one second to break the silence, one second to take a breath, one second to move a muscle. Just one second to pick up the pistol, load it up, pull the trigger. Only one second to create a life, save a life, take a life.

One second.

Yet my lips are sealed. It's been this way for a 'long' just short enough of forever for there's just a chance that all may fall apart if a breath escaped. It's almost hard to breathe through this stale, musty air with this putrid stench held in by the weaves of a countless intricate lies, but it's still managable. Nothing hurts as much as that burn on my chest. And all it takes is just one second to think, to plot, to set an idea into action.

One second.

The pistol sits on the table, bullets by the left and a cellphone on the other. All is quiet as it has always been. There's nothing left to do but all it takes is just one second to draw out possibilities, to sum it all up, to reach a decision.

And just maybe, this time, it won't be too late.</sub>

If there need be a reason for anyone of you to reach me, you should know how to. If you really need me, you should know where to find me.



Oh, Jonah Tate.

Labels: ▼, Writings