Russian Rullet

Jim Hansen sat down at his kitchen table and began to reflect on the day. He had just been laid off by the steel mill he had worked at for nearly thirty years. He lived by himself in the small ranch style home since his wife died of cancer two summers ago. He didn't have any family, he never had any children, and no brothers or sisters. He didn't have many friends, most of them were dead and the remainder of them lived too far away and were too old at this point to keep in touch with anymore. Jim himself was turning 75 at midnight that day. He walked to the refrigerator stood in front of the open door for a matter of minutes. After a while he closed the door and took a bottle of vodka off of the top of the refrigerator and walked into a small room he used as a study. He sat down at his desk and poured the vodka into a small glass. He guzzled it down and set the glass back down on his desk. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room struck midnight. "Happy birthday to me", he said to himself. He opened the desk drawer in hopes of finding something to take his mind off of the depressing mood the day had brought. After rummaging around the drawer for a minute or so, he pulls out a small hand gun with "Old Betsy" engraved on the side. He smiles to himself as he remembers back in the day when he and his buddies would go to underground bars and clubs to play Russian Roulette. "Ah, those were the days," he says to himself. What a thrill it was to play that game. "I don't know how I survived all those games, someone up there must've like me then.", he says laughing at fond memories of him self and his friends enjoying the late nights out at the bars and clubs. He looks again into the desk and finds a single bullet. "One last game", he thought, "What do I have to lose now?" He loaded the gun and spun the revolver, put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger...