One bullet,

You find yourself in a dark room with everyone you know, everyone that you have ever been close to both the loved and the hated. There is a gun resting on a table lighted by an over head light. You walk past the people to the table and grab the gun, it is full, and the clip has enough bullets to empty the room. You point the gun around at everyone, at your mom and dad, nieces, nephews, your one childhood friend, your many childhood enemies, your sisters in whom you loved, your brothers in whom you hated, the one girl that you loved, the many that you've dated, even your pets are sitting there stoned eyed and waiting for you to notice them again. Boom, boom, boom, but you never press the trigger knowing that you had an opportunity to empty the clip on all of them you never pull the trigger until you reach yourself the one you really wish you could erase. You place the nozzle of the gun up to your head and pull the trigger. Knowing this was the right answer to the philosophical question the mathematical equation as to why there is so much suffering in your life.