Last night I woke up at one o’clock in the morning by a knock on the window pane. I got up and looked outside. There I saw a friend of mine. He seemed to be in trouble. He was soaking wet and crying. I asked him what was wrong, but he seemed unable to speak. He climbed in the window and sat down, while he buried his face into his shaking hands. He then told me that his life was falling apart.

Ever since Danny lost his parents in a drunk-driving accident a year ago, his whole life was turned upside down. Danny was never the same afterwards. To numb the pain, Danny started doing drugs. Weeks could go by before anyone saw him again, and when he came back, he always looked worse than before he left. Danny had always loved life.

The heavy rain sounded like little rocks against the window and the wind was whistling between the trees. Danny was still crying and talking about how his life had no meaning anymore. I tried to calm him down, but the more I tried the worse it got. Despair was written in his eyes and I could barely understand what he said underneath the crying. I was afraid his behaviour might lead to something drastic, so I grabbed my phone and called 911.

Danny’s shaking hand grabbed for his pocket and pulled out a gun. As I tried to stop him, he pointed the gun at me and told me to stay back. The feeling I had at that point is unexplainable. He then put it against his temple and was crying hysterically. Everything seemed to go in slow motion and somewhere, far away, I could hear the faint sound of a police siren.

Danny panicked and apologized for everything he had put me through. I was screaming and begging him to not do anything and that I could help him. The police had arrived and were on their way through the front door, but it was too late.

Danny pulled the trigger.