I'll be stuck fixated on one star, when the world is crashing down.

I can taste bitter, stale coffee and the starch of a rushed lunch lingers with it on my tongue. My eyes are tired and sore and the screen of my computer seems to pulsate gently against the warmth of my face. It burns holes in my sleep. I keep my breathing quiet.

 "I'm just so angry. All the time," he says. I imagine him rubbing his eyes and then letting his hand drop back to his thigh with a short slapping sound. "And the worst part is I don't even know why. God. I just. I need to know that someone feels. Something."

 I blink slowly and feel my eyelashes brush my cheek. I don't know if I'm supposed to reply so I just keep my mouth shut.

 "Sometimes I get really lonely. You know. I feel so fucking stupid saying this. I don't even know you but. It's like being kicked in the gut. Over and over and. I just want someone to tell me they feel like this too. Because I'm not insane. I'm just. Lonely."

 I can't suppress a tired sigh. It must sound like I don't care. Maybe I don't.

"And sometimes I just want to die, like. You know? But then I think. Wow, who would miss me? What's the point if no one even notices?"

 I frown a little. Something shifts in my chest and I straighten in my chair.

 "I mean, who would even care? I've never done anything that. Matters. I've never loved anyone, I've never. No one ever loved me. I don't want this to turn into some kind of fucking pity party, but I. need to say it. I've got all these insecurities and it feels like one day I'm just going to fucking snap and I'll lose control and then. What? What would happen?"

 I imagine him to slide down onto the floor, and bang the back of his head against the wall. Probably not even feeling it. I imagine him to be young, with dark hair and beautiful lips. The drop-kick curve of his jaw leads me down to the pale skin of his neck - probably rough with 4am stubble - and to the fabric of his shirt. Maybe he isn't wearing one.

 "There would be no one here to stop me, if I wanted to do. I don't know. Something stupid. Not even you could stop me. I'm probably talking to myself right now. Not that it matters. I mean, I'll just call again and talk at someone for hours until I can't afford it anymore."

 I want to speak but nothing comes. He sounds like a smoker. A singer, maybe.

 "Now I feel totally stupid and weak. You know I hoped this would make me feel closer to someone, but it really just makes me realise how far away we are from each other. How far away I am from help. I want to give up."

 I feel my mouth open a little but -

 "I think I gave up a long time ago. I stopped believing in myself, I guess. And you know, god. What if there is a god? What if I'm going to hell? What if the way I lived my life is just. Wrong?"

 A pause.

 "I keep asking myself all these stupid questions. It keeps me awake and then I start thinking that maybe I'm driving myself mad. You know? It's hard to even understand that. Why would such a concept even exist? And then. When I am insane, who's gonna be there with me? You?"

 I hear his voice crack with a sad laugh. Then I imagine his pale lips dropping from the bitter smile so fast it's like it was never even there at all. Then maybe he closes his eyes - dark grey - and just listens to himself breathing. Listens to the dull thumping in his chest.

 "It's like I'm already dead."

 There's a pause. Three seconds. I imagine a flash of metal and pressure at his temple. Before I can even breathe the gunshot explodes through the phone and seconds later a flat tone rings through the receiver.