He cocks the shotgun, racking a round into the chamber. "This is it... no turning back now." The slightly worn but altogether comfortable arm chair sits in front of the door that is to contain his ruined future. As he sits in the living room many things are flush in his mind. Many of wich pertain to his mother. "God she is gonna be so fucking disapointed." And perhaps she would, but then his mind was already made up. Jons cacophany of choices that led him up to this point didn't matter. He pulled back the pump to check that the shell was still in the chamber and then slid it back, the rack clicking into place resecuring the shell in the blast chamber. "Fuck man... FUCK!" Many other thoughts disorganized as they were collided through his head as he sat there. Their tumultuos nature not to be understated; Understandably jon was going through a particular rough patch. Thoughts of his father, of his family raced through his head. So many, many thoughts. Especially of a notable member. His uncle. "Goddammit chris... it just aint gonna work out... guess I became like mine and broke that promise I made so long ago. Well at least you haven't broke yours yet." Jon laughed to himself in amusement. This was utterly stupid, maybe even selfish but that determination pushed him to see it through. So still he kept waiting. The arm chair had a kind of pull to it. Regal yet worn but with a distinct champaigne room type of smell to it. Jon imagined the people that sat in the chair before him. Were they as monstrous as him? Did they consider the vile actions he was heavily debating right now? Although it was an interesting thought to jon it mattered not. So still he waited. The sun was beginning to set, the time would be coming. Jon had to make up his mind. The debate of "To be or not to be" played over and over and over again. If he did this he was free; perhaps to hell, perhaps to a place that understood him, perhaps even to heaven for having the strength to do something so scary, or perhaps maybe he would just cease to be. This being the culmination of all his years of life. Soon to be forgotten in a few generations. At some point someone would utter his name for the last time and he would finally completely die. But then a thought occured. Nothing was forever. It all ceased at some point even life. "Perhaps this to shall pass. I mean I have yet to see it yet (jon chuckles to himself at the thought of it all) but maybe it will." Although he debated heavily over the idea of performing the unspeakable. For some unknown reason... maybe cowardice, or maybe god. He unloaded the 12 gauge remington and put everything back as it was and went back to his room. As he sat there; there seemed to be a calm around him. That in some sense he had made the correct choice. At least the best one given the circumstances. Not much could be said about the future. But what could be said is that in that moment it was assured to continue. For the time being at least.