It Won’t Change Anything

by Goody McDonough

Mario placed the pen on the spiral notebook. He had conveyed all of his thoughts. The words should be in a museum. Mario picked up the razor blade from the desk and one nine-millimeter bullet from the pile. He focused and carved the word into the back of the round. He retrieved the next bullet and meticulously carved the next word. Mario picked up the last bullet on the table and carved the final word. Pressing with his thumb, he loaded the marked rounds to the top of the plastic magazine and pushed it into the handle of the makeshift Glock 19 with his palm. Mario placed the gun on the table.

Mario looked into the eyes of the woman sitting across the table from him. She appeared to be at peace staring back at him. Mario smiled with just his lips. He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale through his nose. He opened his eyes and was alone in the studio apartment.

Mario reviewed the items sprawled on the table in front of him. A pamphlet for the People’s Healthcare Insurance Investor Conference, the bus ticket to Manhattan, the prepaid credit card, and the pay-as-you-go cell phone. He searched his thoughts for any doubts, but nothing formulated.

***

“It won’t change anything.”

The woman’s image faded in the reflection of the coffee shop window. He saw eyes he hardly recognized under his black hood. The winter morning darkness came into focus. The streets were already full with brake lights. Parked cars lined the side of the streets. Mario sipped his coffee. He knew she was right.

Mario’s thoughts amplified. It won’t change anything for us. It won’t bring you back. But maybe it will help the next family.

The time read 6:45 on his watch. He unzipped the backpack that lay on the floor between his legs. Mario reached into the bag and screwed the metal cylinder onto the barrel of the pistol. He pushed on the end of the magazine in the handle of the gun and gently pulled back the slide.

The man in the blue suit walked past the window just as he had the day before. The man had a swagger in his step like no problems. He created life-changing problems for thousands but had so little himself.

Images of his mother rapidly flashed in his mind. Mario envisioned her young and healthy and then saw her where she had been for the last year of her life, the hospital bed. Mario placed the gun in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, pushed his seat back, and retrieved the backpack. He paced to the door of the shop.

His mother’s image appeared in the door’s reflection. “It won’t change anything. Please don’t throw your life away.”

Mario pushed through his mother’s projection and stepped onto the city sidewalk. The still water from the alleyway infiltrated his nostrils. Mario hustled around pedestrians to lessen the distance between himself and the man in the blue suit. The man now stood under a gold and blue awning with black carpet steps. Mario heard an abrupt laugh and saw the man step onto the staircase.

Mario drew the pistol and extended his arms bringing the gun’s sights to the man’s silhouette.

“It won’t change anything.” The sweet voice echoed in his mind as Mario rapidly pulled back on the trigger. He saw the blue suit man fall onto the stairs.

 “It won’t change anything.”