Goodbye Mr. October by Ana Theresa C. Adriano

And there was a gun shot. Disturbing the deep silence of that cold winter night. It was loud and clear as if the bullet just passed right next to my ear. The flash didn't vanish too soon. And I know in an instant that it claims for death. No matter what, a gun is a tool to kill. And he knows it before he can even pull the trigger.         There was no cry, just a plain shooting. And my breath is hot like the used pistol, burning… as life fades… I saw him die with my own eyes. He showed no mercy to himself. It was a quite a fall, with his hands gracefully reaching into the air. In a moment his life is taken before all the dirt touches his clothes. And it seems that the blood dripping on his head serve like an offer to the earth.         Now, he is silent.         And it seems like the small luxury of perfume he put on his body lost what it serve.         I don't have the right to feel any pity on him. This is all that he wants and this is all that he needs. Nothing more-- but freedom from the ties of this sick world.         It's not between need to or not to. In the end, he knows what to do. At least for once let him take care of something. His eyes were cold as I stare back on the glassy blue orbs. Now, October is silent. Dead as he takes away his own life on the midst of winter. Dead! Dead! Dead!         Oh! This is for October who lost his wife. For the child he thought would cuddle on his arms. It is for him betrayed by his friends. Lost his glory and earned shame. October! My dear October! Why did you blast your sin? Full of miseries your life can be, on hollow grounds of fire and burned every inch of despair. Deprived and lost.         I didn't dare to raise a voice and scream as I saw his body. You know I'm silent…         The police came rushing on him. The neighbors might heard the firing October plan to be silent. Once more, I stood beside my body with one of the officers throwing light on my expressionless face. Who could have thought that a man like him—with such power and prestige and influence would do such a thing? Behind those intriguing eyes that look upon him—October is not a God but a mere human, corrupted by his own emotions of disappeared bliss… and abandoned hope…         I didn't complain and I don't have a single guilt in me. I'm not taking it back. Let me be…         This is for October who lives a life, who throws away that all that he got, who lay dead, and who blasted his head. For I am October who took away his own life…