As I was thinking about the gas lamps in the street I
looked up at the sky. The sky was horribly dark, but one
could distinctly see tattered clouds, and between them
fathomless black patches. Suddenly I noticed in one of these
patches a star, and began watching it intently. That was
because that star had given me an idea: I decided to kill
myself that night. I had firmly determined to do so two
months before, and poor as I was, I bought a splendid
revolver that very day, and loaded it. But two months had
passed and it was still lying in my drawer; I was so utterly
indifferent that I wanted to seize a moment when I would not
be so indifferent - why, I don't know. And so for two months
every night that I came home I thought I would shoot myself.
I kept waiting for the right moment. And so now this star
gave me a thought. I made up my mind that it should
certainly be that night. And why the star gave me the
thought I don't know.
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