With the gun nestled under my chin, I let the hammer click on an empty chamber. "Miracle" I said to my dog, the effeminate spitz, and pulled the trigger again. I put the gun to the spiz's head then, and a trail of bright yellow urine poured from its hindquarters, and his tail wagged crazily all the while. He looked at me as if to say "don't you love me, asshole?" and I regretted roping him into my test of faith. "Miracle" I said, looking away in shame. To be clear, my spitz did not urinate from fear of death, for it always urinated when I played with it; it was just the weak constitution of a small dog.
Five years ago, Doc Hossenpfeffer told me I had six months, and after, he stopped taking my calls. This roulette was just a snack before the meal.
The spitz tilted its little head and looked at me as if to say "whatever I lost, I lost a long time ago" with eyes of pure onyx. "I feel you" I said.
I called Doc Hossenpfeffer again pretending to be someone else this time. "Erection pills" I croaked into the receiver, and I heard the nurse telling someone it was an emergency in the background. She got Hossenpfeffer on the line quick. "You bleeding quack" I said "I don't need erection pills at all!"
"I know that voice" he said dejectedly.
"In fact, I got a throbbing one right now, just talking to you" I said.
"I can't help you" he said flatly. "You're beyond medical science now." He said I did not have a brain. Where my brain should be, there was a large innervated tumor, something only a witch doctor, or a carnival sideshow could appreciate.
I thumped my temple, thinking with the tumor.
I put the phone down and put the gun against the side of my head, and without taking another breath, I pulled the trigger.
This time, I almost passed out.
The bullet bounced off my skull and hit my Glenco Ten Years Of Service certificate that I had framed years ago and hung on the wall. It was now askew, with a fleck of blood.
I put the phone back in its cradle, looked at the spitz and said "Miracle".