The cold steel of the gun pressed against his temple. It was snowing outside, the sky overcast and grey.
'The perfect time', he thought.
He sat in the dingy room on the threadbare mattress, staring at the peeling wallpaper, holding a gun to his head.
Lowering the gun, he studied it absently, filled with sudden regret. He'd never tried hard enough, he concluded. Not as a student, not as a father and definitely not as a human being.
He had ignored the pricking of his conscience for far too long, allowed his demons to amass. Now it all came to bear on him at once. He was surprisingly calm. He was going to die simply because he deserved to. This simple logic left no room for fear or second thoughts. He had takeen far too many lives and spilt far too much blood to be allowed to live.
He'd done it from the shadows, from the dark. By lead and by poison, he had brought down giants, mowed down masses and picked off the weak. And now, it was time for atonement, for purgatory.
Reaching deep into