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The Suicide of Jake Johnson (standard:drama, 1283 words)
Author: Nathaniel MIllerAdded: May 15 2016Views/Reads: 1011/483Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Story Based on Prompt Activity: There was only one way out....
 



There was only one way out. 

A cold heartless sight of a pistol, a .357 revolver sat on the table
gleaming in the light, oiled and loaded, ready for use.  A gruesome 
reminder of what was to come in the next few hours what he was about to 
do, to end it all from which there was no return from then abyss. 

Jake Johnson sat at his desk, glancing at the gun as he penned a note
that the people would find when he finally pulled that little trigger, 
ejecting the jackets of death into his body, shredding his vital 
organs. A note to explain his actions from which was his only answer 
and he could not find the words to express the reasons why he planned 
such an event. It was driving him crazy. 

He crumpled the bit of paper, and threw it into the waste paper can in
frustration. 

“Fuck it! I don't need a note or a reason.” He thought, but shook his
head. He did need a reason why to explain the situation that led him to 
such a resolve. 

Earlier in the day he sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office,
and he scanned a magazine, unaware that this would be the trip of a 
lifetime and what he would be told would be a game changer to his life 
in general. 

As he skimmed a Sport's Illustrated, hardly reading the text and just
looking at the pictures he waited for his turn called by his doctor. 

“Jake Johnson!” A woman's voice called and throwing down the magazine
onto the table that he rose quickly. 

“Here.” He muttered, as he walked toward the doorway and a lady nurse
clad in the familiar blue scrubs of the office he had visited many 
times before. 

“So why the hell am I here?” Jake thought, as he joined the nurse who
smiled at him. 

“How are you Mr. Johnson?” 

“Fine.” He replied, but deep down he had his regrets and wonders of why
he had been called on this scheduled appointment. 

“So why are you being seen today?” The nurse asked, and he paused,
contemplating his answer. 

“I don't know... you guys called me.” Jake replied politely, and the
nurse nodded, recording the information on her clipboard. 

“Come with me.” She chirped, motioning him to follow and he did so to
the vitals room where his temperature, heartbeat, oxygen level and so 
forth was tested and recorded. A few minutes elapsed and he was taken 
to a room. 

The nurse, named Cathy, eyed him carefully, as she recorded the
information. 

“The reason we called you here is the test results from last
examination.” She told him, “But that's left up to Doctor Roberts.” She 
nodded twice and left the room. 

Alone, Jake's mind whirled as he sat on the table. He was suddenly
afraid of what she had said, and little did he know that he would have 
every right to be afraid. 

Jake himself is a vital active man, about in his early to mid-forties, a
muscular body, with graying hair and blue eyes. He is athletic and been 
so all his life, and wondered why his tests would come back negative. 

The door opened a moment later and in walked Doctor Steven Roberts, MD.
He is an older man with white hair, a chubby physique and he wore a 
pair of slacks, shirt, and a white overcoat marking him as a Doctor. 

“Alright Doc, you and your people called me in here,” Jake said quietly,


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