The person sat in their chair, staring at the screen. The only enjoyment left in their life was sitting and staring at what other people were doing with their lives and arguing with them about politics and religion. Gone were their days of youth, they had had a full life, they had decided today was it, they couldn’t go on, they had lived a hell of nearly 50 years of life, they had gender identity issues since they were a small child, lower back issues from their time in the US Marines, and trust issues with love from a failed marriage, and other dating mishaps which caused them to not only hate themselves but to refuse to open up and allow anyone else to love them, they were sick of it all.
On their lap, they had an m1911a1 service pistol. They had cleaned it, used it at the range, and loved this weapon, it was at their side everywhere they went. Leaning against the desk was their Daniel Defense Ambush 300 hunting rifle. This one was set up with hard sights, and they had been cleaning it earlier as they had been to the shooting range earlier that day. Unlike the service pistol, it was illegal to purchase a service rifle as a civilian, so they had a long history of collecting AR15 variants. Some of these were so close to the real thing it would take an expert to tell them apart. However, the variants they actually liked best were specialized hunting rifles which often ended up lighter and less bulky than the ones meant to look like an M16.
The DD Ambush 300 had a small magazine with only 5 rounds and was very accurate up to 500 yards. This was fine for them since the days of using a rifle to hit a target at over 1000 yards were long gone. Age has a way of making the distances with hard sights get shorter, sure they could use a scope, they had purchased many over their life, but it took away a vital portion of their pride as an expert shot to use them. The only thing between them and the target where prescription safety glasses, bits of metal, and the air which the bullets traveled. There was a special thrill when you got a perfect shot with hard sights that you never felt with a scope. Hell, the only type of hunting they liked better was with a bow, but since their health took a turn towards the worse, bow hunting was right out. You had to be in shape to use a bow perfectly, something their back refused to cooperate on.
They sat there and wondered if there was a heaven or hell. In their life looking to cure Gender Dysphoria, they had studied all the world's beliefs and mysteries. As a young child, they were raised by their father who was Southern Baptist, their mom was Jewish, so technically they were too, but they never felt like it. As a young adult, they joined the US Marine Corps. The Marines failed to cure the deep-down dysphoria they felt. So, they had gone on a spiritual journey around the world once free of service. They had sitting on a shelf in the room books and artifacts of all the world’s religions, and all the world’s magical traditions. Sure, science gave hormones and surgery. Sadly, they were built like a football linebacker. Most women would have considered them a hunk when they were young. Even now with a ruined body, and a bald head, they were overwhelmingly masculine standing at six feet three inches when they stood tall. However, thanks to back problems they hunched a bit.
Ten years ago, they started a legal transition, hormones hardly helped as they add but do not take away. They had naturally large breasts, but they still looked like a monster of a man in the mirror. To make the dysphoria worse they had typical male pattern baldness, and no matter how many sessions of hair removal they still had a full beard. They had tried everything, they knew for a fact that there were no gods, no magic that could make a difference on Earth, they had accepted that Science was their only salvation, so far even science had its limits.
They lifted the pistol, chambered a round and closed their eyes. They placed it against their head, waited, and then cleared the chamber and holstered it while crying. Not tonight then.
