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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required He would often wonder why he was so blue. There didn't seem to be anything wrong But often he got a feeling, like he had the flu. He felt empty and spent, certainly not strong. Sometimes he would catch himself just thinking, "There is something missing in my existence." Often times, he felt there was a thing he wasn't seeing, Like a great secret hidden from his presence. "What could it be?" he thought. Everything he had, money, a big white house, Fancy car, a sailboat, a nice dog, and lots of toys. He had the best job, a pretty wife, but he felt like a louse! He just sat at home, and refused to go out with the boys. He started to feel defenseless, and even a bit paranoid. He would mope around the house, or fall asleep with a book. The grass started to get long and his wife became annoyed. Everything was perfect, but he felt like a big fish on a hook. "I have to do something about this!" he screamed at the trees. One day he was searching for something in the closet, when He heard someone calling his name from under his bed. This was strange, because he was alone and his wife wasn't in. Until he heard it once again, he'd thought it was in his head. "Who is under that bed?" he spoke with a tiny squeak. He stood up and walked toward the bed, stopped, and stood. "There isn't anyone under the bed," he thought. He peered underneath the bed, because he felt he should. Lying underneath, was the old shotgun he'd bought. "Oh yeah, I'd forgotten that," he whispered to himself. He tried to reach for it, but it had been slid too far under. He went for his wife's broom to use for a lever. Returning, he poked with the broom and spun the gun asunder. He poked once more and accidentally hit the trigger. "Oh my God!" he said, just before the explosion.
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