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By Autumn Cain

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​Well. It’s in your mouth now and this is your very last chance to go back.

Committing suicide is a lot like giving a blow job. You’ve probably made some pretty damn poor choices that brought you to this situation, and you know it’s all over when the tip touches the roof of your mouth.

The tip tastes bad, very bad. It will either be burning hot and frothing like the creme on top of your cappuccino, or it will be cold and slimy from your salty tears and snot. Your heart will be pounding, and the nozzle will quiver in mutual anticipation.

You’re scared and uncertain. That’s why you are only holding it in your mouth, and you haven’t taken actions as of yet. Funny how much little muscles control. The minute ligaments in your hand that connect your fingers to the underwhelming muscles that reside in your forearm. It’s quite pathetic really.
Such little things can control our lives. One tiny thing can end a life or create it. One tiny slithering sperm cell is all it takes to meet an egg and then BAM you’ve got yourself a zygote, an “Oh god, I missed my period and I am only a teenager. I am that stupid girl. I made a mistake” in your sinking heart. That’s why it’s in your mouth right now.
A bullet. A tiny little metal thing, shaped kind of like a cone but more angular. You’d think it would be smoother and round like it seems in movies. A bullet through your brain, your heart, lungs, a major artery even. BANG. It could end all of the struggling so just let his barrel slide in between your jaws.
You’re on your knees, begging “please”. You feel submissive in this moment. It’s loaded and cocked, and in your mouth, determining your fate. It’s hard and your tongue is pressed against it because your tongue has nowhere else to go. Come on, you can’t stall forever. At this point you’ve got to make a choice. Think about it.
You could spit it back out. Reject him with all his good-intention-mimicking wet dreams that he passes off for love. All his empty promises that he holds in his half loaded gun. He’s watching you, his hand cupped around the back of your neck, urging you on. He seems so warm and welcoming. How will you say no to that?

Suppose you don’t refuse. You give in. You flirt with temptation, you dance with the devil, and he is satisfied with his good little girl. Put into perspective, it’s not all that scary. Just one bang and it’s all over with. You just need to gulp down all that hot liquid full of life that symbolizes the end of so many beginnings. So many bridges to cross, but now they are all up in flames.
You try to stall one last time but you know this is all dwindling down and you can feel the clock ticking as seconds pass you by. You swirl your tongue around the head just to buy yourself that last second and your heart is palpitating in anticipation, you already know the choice you’ll make and you can’t stand it because you are a cowar--

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