He heaved a sigh as he walked down the hallway. The revolver hung heavy in his hand. He had no idea what model or brand or whatever the gun was supposed to be. He'd gotten it at a pawn shop for $15, along with a little blue soldier toy for a mere 50 cents. It was cheap. The paint on the toy was chipped, but its expression of determination haunted him.

He was exhausted. He was done. He couldn't take this any longer.

"Hey, kiddo..." He called. He'd reached his son's room. This was probably the first time they'd talked in a week. Maybe the kid was already dead. Had he eaten at all? "Hey, guess what? I got you a really neat toy. Don't you want to come look at it?"

He nearly caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, but instead shoved it so that it toppled over and fell onto the small desk in the middle of the hall. Whatever happened, he didn't want to see his face. He didn't want to have his ugly features flash across his eyes as he lay there in a pool of his own blood...

That is, if only he were that lucky. He might not even get that far. In this apartment building, the police might come get him before his son hit the floor.

"Hey, kiddo, where are ya? I just want a hug. Can't I get that much?" He vaguely wondered if his son was still sporting that black eye. At this point, he couldn't tell if the bruises came from him or the bullies. Either way, he was saving his son now.

Right?

"Kiddo?"

He pushed open the door. The toy dropped from his hand and the soldier broke. There was his ten year old son. There was a pistol in his ten year old's hand.

There went the bang. There he went.