My Liberation and My Path Toward a Dawning Tomorrow...

“Shoot into my soul. Aim straight for the target. Right here,” I point to my chest. “Please, don’t wound me. Be precise. I don’t want to suffer. I want to step firmly into that place where the earth will be painted red with my blood. I want to feel what life is like there — beyond the dullness of everyday existence.”

You hesitate. But I am ready. I’ve lingered too long in that state — head bent low, searching for something in the mud that I never even lost there.

Your hesitation begins to irritate me. I know you don’t want to hurt me. You don’t want to harm me. You guard me as if I were the greatest gift you’ve ever been given. But… I want a more beautiful tomorrow. I want a sunlit morning. I want meadows adorned with strings of dew. I want roads painted by rainbows and a sunset where I could see your silhouette. I want to breathe in your scent and feel the warmth of your hands. But this gray mass I’m drowning in steals away every chance to touch a dream. That’s why I must break free — to rise above this wretched, dying, overcast day.

I stamp my foot, losing patience. I rush toward you and seize the gun.

“You won’t shoot? Then give it to me. I’ll do it myself — I’ll shoot straight into my soul. I won’t wound it. I’ll be precise. And then, freed from the chains of daily life, I will rise — like an angel bearing good news.”

Ah, I’ll walk away across the muddy meadow in my fancy lace heels. The ground will cling to them, swallowing my steps. They’ll probably rub my feet — those shoes have always been a bit too small for me. But they’re madly beautiful. Madly elegant. So very stylish. I walk through the green meadow toward the horizon — where the sheep graze. When my feet grow tired, I’ll sit beside them — the carefree sheep of this meadow — and tell them about the weight of everyday life, about its gray frame, and about the colors that were lost and forgotten. I’ll speak of exhaustion and the search for an escape from it — of learning to love myself, and of the sunrise over the world I’ve just released a bullet into.

Have I freed myself? Oh yes. If the sun is rising, then it was worth the try. Because sunrise is the beginning of a new everyday life. I sit in the muddy meadow, my feet raw and sore. It’s cold, as the morning dew caresses my weary thoughts, and the first rays of sunlight — like a mother’s hand — wrap around my shoulders, gently brushing the tangled strands of my hair. It feels good to see and feel such a sunrise. It feels good to be freed from the infinity of fatigue and to breathe in the scent of a fog dissolving into light.

I take off those beautiful shoes, and with them, another door closes in my soul. My feet ache, but it’s nothing compared to the magical relief of standing barefoot on the damp earth. I let the still water left by the rain wash over me, cleansing every wound. The chill of the morning seeps through me, and I feel myself rising — reborn, ready for a new life, bright and vivid, or perhaps blindingly white — pure as crystal.

It was worth killing what weighed me down, what drained me, what kept me from stepping into peace and contentment. That single bullet — in the gun you were too afraid to fire — was my liberation, my path toward a dawning tomorrow.