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                             An excerpt for the novella “The Comfort Of Despair”
 

The rising sun’s light reflects off the barely visible La Concha Hotel. I cut the boat’s engine—now, I am at the mercy of the current. The water is crystal clear, and still, I can't see the bottom. The ocean’s depth must be at least forty or so feet. I take a long gulping sip of Clase Azul Extra Anejo. It is smooth and tastes so good. Wow, you really can distinguish the sweetness and oak flavors. Warmth emanates out from my belly.

 

                              The morning air — cool.
                              The early sun — bright.
                              The breeze — gusty.

 

The boat drifts a bit farther out. La Concha disappears over the horizon. Under the seat, the oversized handgun rests. At its side, the box of ammo, untouched and unopened. I break the seal. Cold, unfeeling, deadly lead stares back at me.

I load the pistol’s chambers. The good old .44 magnum clicks as each bullet cradles into place. Is this what I really want to do?

Is this the answer? I was so sure last night.

The ever-changing current brings me back near the island. Once again, La Concha rises into sight. I love that hotel. It was there that….

I push the memory from my mind. Another long swallow of the tequila. I point the barrel at my head. It will be over quickly—

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