Lost ship

He stared at the table. If only the answers lay in front of him. Then maybe he would know the way.
The table stared back, mocking him. It had no answers to give. It stared as if it knew the answers but refused to give them up.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. This wasn't what he expected.
Life had thrown him curve ball after curve ball. He took what he had been given and made the best of bad situations. He had prospered, grown kind and generous. He had become an exemplary human being. But he was empty. Hollow. A shell of a man, grasping at straws to fill the emptiness inside. Nothing worked, nothing helped. He was nothing but a black hole.
So he fulfilled his lifelong dream. He bought a boat. He learned to sail it, and then he sailed away. If he was going to be empty inside, he might add well be alone doing it. No one else wanted his company.
Days turned into weeks, which turned into years. And here he found himself.
Lost. At sea. In the Pacific. In a boat that was sinking from storm damage. No radio, no power, nothing.
He looked at the table again, it still yielded no answers. He looked to his right. The loaded gun beckoned.
There was no helping it. He was going to die. One way or another. The question was simply how to go. And the table remained silent.
He wished he had someone to miss. He wished there was someone to say goodbye to.
But the emptiness inside allowed for nothing. His life was over.
Time to end it all.