He should have moved into another apartment. Not as beautiful and not as big as the one he lived in, but decent by his standards. And the rent was not too high. He managed to pay six months’ rent in advance plus a one-month down payment.
All his stuff from the apartment that seemed to matter to him already was packed in boxes, packages, and bags. His apartment remained empty, just like the apartment he was supposed to move into. The friend promised to move him with his van, and some others offered to help him.
But he hasn’t moved yet. He was waiting for a letter. An important letter. And he knew they wouldn’t find him at the new address. Every morning and every evening he checked in the mailbox, but the letter was not there. He didn’t go out of home so that the man who was delivering registered packages would find him at home, but the delivery was not coming.
People who knew him wondered what was happening to him, and he only answered cryptically: “I’m waiting for a letter, an important letter.”
A month passed, two months passed, and there was no letter. He was sleeping on the parquet, covered with a blanket. He was coughing badly. His heating was cut. But he was persistent. Three months passed, four… All six months he had paid for passed. He will manage, it’s not the first time he has found himself in such a situation.
And that one morning, the doorbell rang. In front of her stood a man with an envelope in his hands. Tremblingly, he put a signature that he had received the mail, closed the door, and eagerly opened the letter. In it, it was written that the court accepted his appeal, that the administrative executor has no right to foreclose on his apartment, and that he can stay in it.
He slowly reached for one of the packages. He opened it and dug inside it. He took the old trophy gun out of it. He also found a rusty bullet. He didn’t believe the gun was working. He did not believe that the bullet would go off. He put the gun in his mouth, pulled the cock, and the gun went off.
The neighbor who found the body swears he was smiling. It probably looked that way because of the wound.
But I know he was smiling, and I know the last thought that went through his head was that, well, at least one fucking thing in his life is working. The old rusty trophy gun!