The Last Ride

Published: December 19, 2025 · Updated: January 1, 2026

As I waited for Barry to come pick me up, I carefully laid my belongings out on the counter. Wallet, keys, and a few personal belongings to send the right message to the next person to enter my kitchen.

I’m only taking 3 things with me on this last trip out of the house: my ID, a stapler, and my grandfather’s Colt 1911.

Oh! How I vibrated with excitement when I saw Barry pull in. This is it. I ran out to his truck and hopped in. On our way to the secluded area of the woods we scouted, we reminisced on our memories together, both good and bad. We talked about some of our greatest achievements and our greatest mistakes. The memories of every floundered relationship still burned hot in my mind. Every disappointment, every wrong word selected felt like a red-hot needle pressed into my frontal lobe. Not even the highest highs could make me forget my own mistakes, my own failures, my own loneliness.

Barry’s discomfort was palpable, yet he kept the conversation cheery and light, even when discussing our mistakes. He always had an insane happiness; he was capable of finding the good in even the darkest of times. He was the only man capable of doing this favor for me, but it was something he was going to have to spend the rest of his days with. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to call my friend.

A couple of hours passed before we reached the segment of state land we had surveyed a couple of weeks ago. We still had a bit of a walk to the river, and luckily, it was bitterly cold. We trudged in silence, with me leading the way through the snow. He followed in my tracks so that we only left one set of prints.

When we arrived at the river, I cleared a spot for a fire as Barry gathered kindling. We were going to enjoy a last meal together before we separated. Together we cooked some chicken breast and enjoyed the experience of this time spent together. After this, there would be no more. He would leave, return to his family, and do his best to forget what came after.

When we finished, I stomped out the fire and did my best to cover all traces of us being here, or at least the fact that two of us were here. I took off my jacket and removed my shirt, then took my stapler and stapled the ID to my sternum. I wanted to at least be identified when I washed up downstream. It would at least give my loved ones some closure.

I put all my clothes back on, then knelt by the river. I produced my grandfather’s pistol, ensured it was loaded, and then handed the gun to Barry. As I knelt before the river, reassessing my decision for the millionth time, I felt a sense of calm I had never felt before. A wave of comfort washed over me as it finally sank in that these would be my last breaths.

I’m so grateful for Barry. We may be doing our best to make it look like a one-man job, but the truth is that I could never do it myself. Causing that level of pain to my loved ones isn’t something that I’m capable of.

As I knelt by the edge of the river, I heard Barry take a ragged breath and ask, “Now, you’re sure?”

I simply nodded, and I heard the safety click off. These are the last mortal memories I carried on my way to Hell.