Realism Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Triggers Make the World Go Round ❯ Triggers Make the World Go Round ( One-Shot )

For some reason, I'm very interested by suicide and things that will make you do it. So anyway, I started this, forgot about it, and randomly found it again a few months later. I think it took like less than two hours to write, but thoughts are still appreciated. So without further adieu, please enjoy my short story, `Triggers Make the World Go Round'.

 

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Turning the key, Michelle stealthily entered her house. She had just come home from a long business trip that had ended early, and she wanted to surprise her husband with exciting news that she had recently discovered.

“Jake?” She called out tentatively. There was no answer. She called out again, this time louder. Like before, silence met her voice.

`How strange,' She thought, `He's always home by now.'

Puzzled, she searched the whole downstairs. She then searched upstairs. Dark curly locks swayed frantically as her panic grew and her pace quickened. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

`Maybe he's only caught in traffic.' With new hope restored, she called his cell phone. It was turned off. She tried his work number only to get the answering machine.

She lightly held her stomach as a dizzy spell overcame her. She sat on the couch and made an attempt to think this through rationally. He could have had a meeting she didn't know about. He could be out playing golf. He could be doing anything.

Still, Michelle's mind would not be at ease. Yet she decided to wait a little while before making any rash decisions. Suddenly the phone on the near by table rang. On impulse she walked over and answered.

Before the man was finished she was up and out the door.

“Where is my husband?” She asked urgently once she was inside the hospital, rushing to the information desk.

A girl looked up, popping her bubble gum before asking, “Name?”

“Jake Johnson.” Michelle said, tapping her finger nails on the counter top impatiently. Jake could be dead by now, she didn't have time for someone who obviously wasn't concerned with very much going on.

The girl pulled out a stack of papers. “Oh, he just came in like an hour ago. He's in room 203-but you need to fill these out!” She waved the forms after Michelle, who was already running in the direction of the room.

She was within a few yards of the door when a doctor came out, shutting the door behind him. But Michelle had been running, so she ran into him without meaning to.

After they were both standing up straight, she tried getting past him and into the room, but he held her back.

“May I ask who you are?”

She struggled. “I'm his wife! Let me see Jake! Let me see him!”

If anything, he held onto her even tighter. “Michelle, calm down!”

She shook her head, tears threatening to sting at her eyes. “No, he needs me! What have you done with him?”

The man held her at arms length, looking at her sternly. “Michelle, there was nothing we could do for Jake. He was shot three times, twice in the chest! Did you not get the message on your phone? We've been trying to call the past forty five minutes.”

When she became limp, he let go of her arms. “No, I only just got home.” Her voice wavered, being choked out. Then, all at once, the tears poured a salty water fall, and her strength was renewed.

“He can't be gone! I need to see Jake, I need him!” She shouted as loudly as her emotional state would allow, banging her fists on his chest in a vain attempt to avoid the truth.

People who had been ignoring her shouting came over to pull her off of the doctor, and after a few moments she sank in their arms. They let her fall, collapsing on her knees and sobbing violently.

The doctor bent down, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Johnson.”

She sobbed harder, her face buried in her hands. “I'm pregnant. I was going to surprise him. We were going to be so happy…”

He sighed, apologizing one last time before leaving her to attend to another patient.

Late that night, after writing her will and last statements to friends and family, Michelle picked up the gun they kept in the bedroom for emergencies. It felt heavy in hr hand as she lifted it to the side of her head, more tears streaming down.

She took a last glance around the room, all the furniture they had taken so long to agree on, and all their pictures in intricate frames. It all appeared grey to her; none of it mattered.

The trigger was pulled, a shot was heard by the neighbors who called the police, and a body slumped to the floor. The trigger was pulled, and two more lives were lost that night. The trigger was pulled, and the world became a little darker.