This here’s one of my short stories. Rather dark and amateurish. Hope you guys enjoy it:
Suicide. Killing yourself. Intentionally killing yourself. However you define it, that’s what’s on my mind right now. Suicide. The one word that keeps going through my mind as I lie here on my bed.
What drives people to commit suicide? To end it all? Is life too full of pain that people decide to just end it there and then? What goes on in their minds when they do decide it’s what they really want? I guess I’ll find out myself. Haha. Don’t give me that look. I’ve heard of Coelho’s book, although I’ve never read it, but this is nothing like it. Veronica had everything going for her. I don’t. She was intelligent, beautiful, rich, had the perfect life. I’m only intelligent, nothing else. Her reasons are different than mine.
I always believe in reasons. Why not? Everybody has one. Everybody has a reason for everything. A reason for going to the bathroom, a reason for eating, a reason for going to school, a reason for breaking up, a reason for working, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. You name it, we’ve got a reason for it.
And so I would guess why I have suicide on my mind. Why not? What better way to get away from all these terrible things than to close my eyes and never open them ever again.
I got up to get myself a glass of water and head over to the medicine cabinet.
Hmmmm… how many pills should I drink? I’d really love to get creative ‘cause I really am quite creative by nature, but I didn’t want to go looking messy. And besides, I have always thought to myself that I’d rather OD on drugs when I go so I wouldn’t feel any pain. Why end a life of pain with more pain? I don’t see the logic. Makes me chuckle thinking about all those losers who committed suicide via guns or jumping off buildings or hanging themselves. I guess their ghosts are full of regret seeing how ugly they looked when they died.
Ah, I slap my forehead, so that’s why they come back and haunt! Well, I don’t want to haunt my house when I die, so I’ll take pills instead. That way I would look as if I just overslept and forgot to wake up at all. I picked up the bottle of sleeping pills and turned on my laptop. I find it necessary for me to write down my last thoughts. For the record, so to speak. Like a suicide note. But my note will not contain any regrets. Ah, yes. No regrets.
I lived a life of isolation. I do not have much friends, just acquaintances. I am the fat lady who lives across the street. I’m not rich, just living from paycheck to paycheck. I actually have quite a simple life with very simple pleasures. Fastfood. Movies. Not really interested in going to parties or bars. Just contented with the way I lived: a solitary, quite sedentary life.
Until Mother comes by to visit.
“Nancy, have you seen yourself lately?” she came to visit me one day. And by this time in my life, I have learned to dread her weekly visits, trying to find excuses for her not to come over.
“Yes, and it’s beauty from within that’s important, Mother,” I mumbled as I was typing away on my laptop.
“Nancy, you should go out and exercise.”
“I have no time, can’t you see I’m busy working?”
“Yes, but there are other ways,” she rummaged through her bag, “Here, I bought you a belly dancing DVD.”
Mother looks young for her age, and she always got complemented on having a good figure. I, on the other hand, was her fat, ugly daughter. All my life she was fussing around me, giving me beauty tips, forcing me on these crazy diets she heard about, fluttering around me like I’m some defective sculpture. It’s so suffocating. I know Mother’s intentions are good, but she doesn’t realize its effects on me.
“My goodness, Nancy! Your frigde is full of cola! How long have you been living a very unhealthy life? You should watch what you eat! Look at yourself! You’ve been out in the sun too much! And your tummy – it’s almost as big as Dad’s!”
I try my best to tune out her voice in my head as I try to focus on my latest project. I’m so glad I’m not living with Mother and Dad anymore. Imagine hearing her voice all day everyday! Sometimes Mother brings along Dad. Mother does all the talking while Dad just sits outside on the porch. Mother usually tries to tidy my place while Dad chats up the neighbors.
After her visits, I almost always have very low self-esteem and close to going mad looking for my stuff. My house is messy by her standard but it’s chaotically organized (if there is such a term) for me.
I took 2 pills from the bottle and study them. They look small, unassuming, harmless. Good help when taken one at a time or as prescribed. But deadly when taken all in one gulp. Just like pain. A little painful experience once or twice in a decade is quite helpful. Makes one grow and learn from the experience. Makes one stronger. But a lot of pain all at the same time, that’s different. It’s just like everything else, too much makes it deadly.
I’m not really good at swallowing pills, so I take them one after the other, careful not to drink too much water or it will swish around in my big tummy.
One… *gulp*…
two… *gulp*…
three… *gulp*…
four… *gulp*
I hope these little things work.
Five…*gulp*
How much should I take? I swallowed five more. I should’ve downed them with vodka or gin, I guess they’d work better with alcohol. I lay down again in my bed, waiting for my eyes to get heavy.
If I die in my sleep, would my dreams be endless? How would I know that I have died already? So many questions. I wonder if I get to find the answers.
I close my eyes and smile. I begin to hum. Who’s gonna find me dead in the morning? Will my death matter? Who’s going to miss me? The fat lady across the street is dead. Now what? I lay on my side as I start getting sleepy.
I slowly drift off to dreamland as I think about the few happy memories that I have.
To begin your plan, you must first assassinate a town mascot. This will cause the world to sit up and take notice, amazed by your arrival. Who is this Evil Genius? Where did they come from? And why do they look so good in Classic Black?
