There sat a man whose depression was honestly rocking the absolute shit out of him. He sits at a table in the wheelchair he was bound to for the rest of his miserable life. His solid dead eyes stared blankly at his book writing constantly. He comes to a dead end his book, unsure what to put next. His eyes drift from the pages then looking at the gun he had close. Simon blinked slowly the more he considered it. His fingers bouncing against the table as he rested the pencil down, eyeing the gun