Easy Call by Dennis Watson

                                                     Easy Call

   All right, he said, that’s it. This is the straw that pushed the camel through the eye of the needle. Okay, so I’m not literary. I’m not. I’m just another dull grey businessman who got passed up for promotion by one more young hot shot. I make barely enough to feed my family—that’s important—and take a vacation once a year to see the world’s largest frying pan in Idaho (It’s big!).

     I’ve got a lot to die for, he thought, and set about doing it.

     He took one of his prized possessions from a cabinet in his converted-from-a-bedroom-office. It was a very good video camera with a remote control and a timer. He set it carefully on the desk and went to retrieve a tripod and a set of cables. He caught his foot in one of the cables, dropped the tripod and nearly fell. Perfect, he thought, I’m gonna screw up my own suicide.

     Some where a dog barked, slightly off key.

    But he pulled himself together, attached the camera to the tripod, and focussed it on his chair behind the desk, which held his second favorite possession: a 357 Magnum pistol, which held one dum-dum bullet. He chuckled at the thought. They’re not going to believe this.

    Just then the camera dropped slightly on the tripod—-he’d forgotten to tighten it—and he caught his other foot in a cable as he reached for the camera.

     Damn it, I’m gonna hurt myself before I kill myself, and I’ve only got a few minutes more. He untangled himself, set the pistol on the desk, and straightened a 4x4 blank canvas he’d hung on the wall behind the desk.

     His plan was to seat himself at his desk, start the camera with the remote, pick up the Magnum and blow his brains out on the canvas. I may not be literary, but I’m artistic. He chuckled. This oughta blow their minds. (Hey, blow their minds—maybe I am literary.)

    Okay, only a minute or so to go. As he walked to his desk he stumbled over  the empty videocassette box. What the hell, he thought, maybe living’s easier than dying. But he steadied himself, sat at the desk, picked up the pistol, checked the round in the chamber and thought, Only one thing can stop me now.

     A call came from the kitchen. “Dinner! Come and get it!”

     And you know what?

     He did.