That sad, soulful, sleepyhead

Moritz Stiefel

Was gone

Departed from this mortal realm

As quickly as one might take a breath

And as his best friend raised the cold silver cylinder to his temple

The moonlight glinting off of it

Almost serenely

As he cocked the gun

And placed his finger on the trigger

He didn't hear the whispering in the wind

Urging him to not do it

To not fire the gun

To not pull the trigger

But he didn't hear the whispers

Even as they grew louder

Turning into

Shouts

Screams

Shrieks

His dearly departed friend

And possibly more than that

Urging him to stop

Begging him

To go home

To not do as he had done

But he didn't hear the warnings

The pleads

And so

He pulled the trigger

And it was dark

So dark

So dark

So dark...