11:37 a.m.

I hopelessly sigh and make slow, circle-pattern movements on my polished, hardwood flooring of my apartment with my foot, thinking of ways to drown out the sheep-like bleating of depression. I consider going outside for another hour ride on my motorcycle, but that only ends up numbing the pain. The constantly rising price of gasoline doesn't aid in my situation either. I try to preoccupy my mind with stupid tasks, but they always end up with me back at square one; desperate for a way to evade chronic depression. Sleeping does help, but there's only so long you can shrug off the creeping thoughts in your head until they invade your own dreams as well.

I glance over at my phone, and look at the 11 calls I've missed and 4 text messages all from my ex-girlfriend. Have I mentioned that I am a hopeless romantic? I just did. I lazily lob the phone over my shoulder and it wedges itself between the cushions in my couch. My stomach emits a low growl, indicating that I should get off my ass and provide it with some sort of nourishment. I do have money saved up for Subway, but I haven't showered for days and I'm not in the mood to go out in my current condition. Instead I walk to my kitchen, boil water in a pan and pop in an artificially-flavored chicken ramen. I walk out of my kitchen into the living room to suddenly face plant into the welcoming ground. Groaning loudly and muttering a few unpleasant no no words, I crawl back up and return to my laptop to check if there's any updates to stories I'm tracking on fimfiction.com. Happily noticing some updates in a far-progressed story, I jump back up and return to the kitchen with a little bit of a hop in my step to pour my 'freshly' made ramen into a cheap plastic bowl. Time to nibble on ramen and read more fanfics.

2:40 p.m.

I glance up from my laptop to notice the fact that 3 hours has passed since I've sat back down on my bed. I pick up my empty bowl of ramen and deposit it into the sink. I turn around to return to my fanfics, but I notice an old book sitting in the corner of my kitchen. I already know what it is and how it got there, but despite the pleads from the rational portion of my brain, I pick up the book. I wipe the dust off it's spine and reshape the bent edges of the pages, now realizing that it's my family scrapbook, with everything that has occurred in the span of my life from embarrassing baby pictures to daring adventures with my dad. Tears drip from the corner of my eyes, as I refresh my memory of what it was like to have a family that spent every minute to make your as awesome as possible. A sour taste returns to my mouth and I stoop back into a mild depression which I had tried so dearly to avoid for the past week. The hours blur by as I sit on my bed and exercise my greatest gift: thinking.

6:20 p.m.

My brain has tried every solution to pull myself out of the gutter, and finally strikes a cord. To it's misfortune, that idea turns out to be my demise.

My brain says, "Hey Camron! Snap out of it doofus! Have you already forgotten that New Years is less than 6 hours away?"

I sarcastically think back, "Why the fuck should I care? New Years is just another marketing scheme to get you to spend your money on crap you don't need. Same with Christmas and Easter. You out of anything should know this... because you are me."

"You sure though? You always wanted to make a difference, right? Why not set up a resolution to help you achieve this?"

"You know, you're absolutely right. I ought to start fixing up this shithole of a community, and what better time to start than New Years?"

"Atta' boy! I told you we'd get through this! Another rough patch in the road, but we are too smart to get past this," exclaimed my rational brain.

11:00 p.m.

After a nourishing late night cereal dinner, I am content with my New Year's resolution.

"Hehe, brain you smart... thing... you," I admitted to myself, "you really hatched something smart this time."

"Hey hey, we are smart," gloated my brain, "I am after all a figment of your imagination."

"Derp. Well, anyway, I do suppose I shou-"

My monotonous mutterings were interrupted by shouts of rage and glass breaking against the wall.

"You want to fucking disrespect me? You dumb fucking cunt!" A loud bang against the wall was heard and a shriek of pain was heard from a female-sounding voice.

"Oh my god," I muttered. "Not this shit again."

For you see faithful reader, I am probably most guilty and can be claimed to be the most scummy, hypocritical jerk out on that side of California. I preach about fixing the community around me, when for the past couple months this couple has made no effort in hiding their obvious domestic problems. Many times on Sundays or Fridays, everybody in our apartment building can hear sounds of occasional glass breaking to beating. Being all pumped up in the moment, I had enough of this shit. I opened my closet and withdrew my Wilson tennis racket and held it firmly in my hands. I strolled up to my front door, completely ignoring putting on any shoes and walked out the door.

Halfway through my walk my rational brain started noticing signs of trouble. At first it was confused, asking the occasion, "Hey, what are you doing?" As I got closer to the door, it started panicking and said, "Hey dude, you really really ought not to do this. This is stupid and you're going to get yourself hurt."

I ignored any signs of distress from my head and arrived at the front of the couple's door. I rung it twice, and heard any commotion in the apartment go silent. I heard the lock disengage and a wary man in his late 40s opened the door and asked, "What the fuck do you fucking want?"

The moment those words escape from his mouth, my brows tightened and I kicked the door in. This sudden explosion of force caught him off-guard, hitting him in the head and leaving him in a daze for a minute. I walked in and observed my surroundings noticing his girlfriend sitting in the corner with a scared look at blood on her shirt. Understanding what has been happening in his apartment, I had no hesitation when I took my racket and whacked it into his temple, leaving him unconscious and bleeding from his right ear. Smirking slightly, I dropped my racket and picked up the revolver sitting on the wooden table by the door. No wonder the woman hadn't tried to escape earlier, with that menacing thing sitting around there, I would be shitting my britches as well. I looked at the woman (roughly around the age of 20-24) and attempted a reassuring smile for a moment. She returned the smile and quickly gathered her purse and thanked me before racing out the door. She obviously didn't know or care what intentions I had with the gun I had obtained. I silently walked into my apartment, closed the door and locked it.

11:50 p.m

It was quiet in my apartment now. Any logical thinking that could be done now is dead. It's almost as if the moment I kicked in the door, my logical brain took a metaphorical rope and hung itself. I was caught up in the moment and I know what was going to happen to me after what has taken place tonight. I guess I was going to go out with a bang, and goddamn I felt a lot better justifying myself. I made a change, but now I have to prepare for my early departure from this scorched earth. Good thing I have 10 minutes left. Plenty of time to take a quick shower, get dressed in something nice, and perhaps write a small note.

11:59 p.m

I felt rejuvenated; spiritually and physically. I bet my parents are watching over me with a smile right now; somewhat disappointed but hopefully proud of my actions. I now sit here, fiddling with the revolver in my hand, spinning it's chamber over and over. Tonight was a game of Russian Roulette, a game that I won and lost at the same time. I quickly switched the TV to channel 4, and listened to the cheers of the oncoming New Year. I smiled slightly and looked at all the happy people in the crowd.

10... I cough.

9...

8...

7...

6...

5... My palms begin to sweat.

4...

3... Hands begin to tremble.

2... Hands now shaking violently, emitting a rattling sound from the revolver.

1... I raise my hand and feel the piercing, cold metal against my temple.

Happy New Ye-

Everything stops. I sit there, seeing my reflection in the tv. I cannot move my head, all I can do is sit there and think. I mentally break down in laughter; it's kind of funny to see yourself stuck in a position like that. It's quite awkward. Once again, I am back to thinking. For what feels like a minute, I think of my parents, my best friend, my memories, and then strangely... I think of... My Little Pony? All of a sudden I feel the force of a sledgehammer smash against my head and a strange whooshing sound. All I feel is wind and I black out.

(A/N: Do please feel free to rip the shit out of this Chapter and especially my 1st chapter. I'm sorry if you feel depressed if you've stuck with the story this far. But I do thank you for your time and patience, and assure you that things will be in a lighter mood as we progress farther into the story and explore the mind of the maker, myself.)

Ah... good ol' Xbox. You know I forgot the greatest gift that is so big it cannot be put on the front of the box, frustration. Spawnkillers, terrible hosts, so much it just drives me mad. But anyway, that's not the news. I just got Borderlands and Halo Wars! I know a year or 2 later, but hey, the game's still fun. Do feel free to lob a friend request my way @ rageofhell45. Thanks!