Blood So Sweet

The crystal glass was raised to lips surrounded by pure white fur, beads of moisture rolling down the sides as the ice clinked against the glass. The amber liquor barely burned as it slid down his throat and left a numbing sensation in the pit of his stomach. This was how he had spent his waking hours for the past 9 years of his life, it wasn't that he loved liquor, it was the opposite actually, he hated it. But it was how he dealt with his problems. Since his children had turned three he had begun to seek solice in the bottle more and more instead of his wife's arms. He was a failure in every aspect of his life, he was unable to teach his children what a father should teach them, unable to provide for the family like a man should, and unable to be the husband he should be to Veronica

"Steklyn was right," he slurred out, the realization finally sinking in, "He was right all along." Beside him on a side table rested his black pistol and a special round his brother had designed. It didn't do much damage when it entered, it was the time delayed high explosive that did the job. The blast was enough to rip a dragon in two, so it would do the trick nicely. It pained him that he would have to hurt Veronica again, but she deserved someone better than the pathetic lifeless shell he had become. She needed someone who could take care of her in the ways he couldn't, she needed someone who could make her life flawlessly easy, not more difficult with every breath. The glass moved to his lips again, the scotch only tingling as it went down, a sign that he was beyond drunk, but he didn't want to be sober for this. He wouldn't have the nerve to do it. Every precaution necessary had been taken, no one was awake in the enitre house, no one to stop him from what he was about to do.

The last of the scotch slid down his throat without even a trace of a burn, the glass slipped from his fingers and shattered quietly on the floor, it was then that he felt the pang of fear curl into him, but he forced it away. He refused to continue forcing Veronica to suffer his weakness anymore, she deserved a strong husband, not the weakling that he was. His hand slid around the sleek cherry wood grip, lifting the gun, it felt like it weighed a ton. For the first time he noticed just how well blanaced the pistol was, it was odd that he felt no terror from the instrument of his death. Thumbing the release switch, the empty magazine fell into his free hand. Dropping the ebony pistol to his lap his finger went to the single round that sat on the table. He looked at it closely, so curious that such a small thing would bring him down when a decade ago he felt larger than life. The bullet slid into the magazine with a quiet click, the sound seeming to echo around the empty living room. Retrieving his pistol he fed the mag into it, his hands trembling violently as he racked the slid and released the hammer. He traced the sleek edges of the pistol, soon they would drip with his blood, its beauty forever marred by this ultimate act of selfishness.

Veronica had spent so much time in designing the guns for him, all of her love for him poured into them, it seemed fitting to him at that moment that he would use them to free her heart again, giving her the opportunity to find someone better for her. His thumb went up and back before flipping down, catching the safety with a snick as two tears slid down his cheek. As the cold metal of the barrel slid under his chin he closed his eyes for a long moment, listening to the soft breathing of his wife and children. Then one of the breaths stopped for a beat, foot steps in the hall way sounding out. NO! No one was supposed to be awake. "Good bye, my loves," he breathed as he pulled the hammer back, the soft noise seemed deafening as the foot steps came closer, bringing the person to the darkened doorway across from him. He had taken all the slack up on the trigger as time seemed to stop for him