The End

Phil Morris had done it all twice. He was old and jaded. All his life experiences boiled down to one certain fact. People are assholes, and he didn’t exclude himself from the pack. He sat in his comfortable chair cleaning his gun. His most prized and reliable friend. The days newspapers carefully arranged to one side. His various gun maintenance paraphernalia, three spare clips and a box of ammo laid out just so.

He looked across at the front page of the top most paper and there he was staring back. Beside the less than flattering half page image of himself there was a small image of the now familiar blast ‘that shook the world’. He had been exposed. His life of service ended. A routine mater, a small piece of propaganda gone horribly wrong that had spun until all the fingers pointed his way.

The spineless agent who had spilled his guts in supposed revulsion of his mandated act. Such a simple task so badly done. The paper trail found Phil. Phil the hero, our man Phil, Phil the dill. He wouldn’t let the side down.

And so he assembled the weapon, loaded the clip, placed the barrel in his mouth and fired himself.

No one mourned Phil but a few were very relieved.