Eugene sat on the old wooden bench in the dark back corner of the city park. The old .44 magnum pistol he had stolen from his grandfather was a cold dead weight in his lap. It was loaded and cocked. All Eugene needed was the nerve to use it.
When you are forty, short, fat, ugly, and have a small dick what kind of a future do you have? Add the wimpy nerdy name of Eugene on top of all that and the answer is obvious-- none. Shunned, ridiculed, and unloved, the answer blew cold and hollow through his soul.
With a shivering sigh, Eugene picked the massive gun up and opened his mouth. It's massive weight made him hold it with both hands as he brought the barrel around and up. As he started to stick it in his mouth he froze.
"No way!" he muttered.
He could see the cops when they found his lifeless body and the smirks and grins on their cruel faces. "What a Homo," they would say. It would look like he was sucking on a big shiny steel dick. There had been enough of the name calling in his life. He sure didn't want more in his death.
Sliding forward on the bench, he stuck the end of the barrel under his chin and rested the gun on his chest. He tilted his head back so the top of it lined up with the barrel. This would be the best way to make it quick and painless.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm his nerves and to try and steady his shaky in his hands.
"Hell, it'll be so quick I won't even hear the gun go off." He reassured himself in a voice that held a quiver of fear.
A sudden muffled female scream off to his right made him jump so hard he would have pulled the trigger if his finger had been on it. As it was, he almost dropped the big gun.
Standing up, Eugene peered into the dark trying to see where the scream came from. He caught a glimpse of motion between two bushes down the hill toward the lake. There were lights at the picnic area and on the fishing pier that backlit that area. He could now make out the silhouettes of two people holding a third down.
Eugene felt his anger rise as his mind made the jump to two men raping some poor helpless woman. The weight of the big gun in his hand made him raise it up and sight down the barrel. His hands were shaking. It was to far and he had never even fired a gun before.
He took off in that direction in his shuffling, rolling, waddling excuse for a run. He hated his body but his hatred for bullies of all sizes and types was even stronger. He had been on the receiving end all his life.
