Suicide

Taking his swiss army knife he carves a thin line across his left wrist. Every piece of the swiss knife has a purpose. He smirks at the irony, one last time.

He sat on the edge of his bed. Feet on the soft carpet, hair tousled and wet after a long bath. The once pure-white bathrobe was loosly knotted around his waist. Everyday, he arose from an intermitten sleep laced with nostalgia. He dealt with the daily drudgery of office, social life, family and friends for many years methodically and with a stoicism nurtured through the years. Diffendence, others said. If only they knew.

Except for the tiny tingling on his skin, he doesnt feel a thing at first. Slowly, the line comes into appearance, a red line that opens up to ooze more red. Drops of blood slowly drip onto the carpet, the sound of dripping reverbrating in his ears. Involuntarily his body twitches at the sensation of blood flowing through the cut, by now gushing out with more force. He looks down at the reddish puddle forming on the brown carpet between his legs.

Today would be different he had assured himself when he woke up. He took a final glance of the Brooklyn river through his penthouse windows. When he moved into the penthouse, this view enslaved him. It spoke of a promise, a destiny to be fulfilled but now it signified nothing but the vast openess. It would be different he said to himself again.

His eyes roll up into their sockets, losing consciousness partly due to the vivid, vibrant pulsating color of the blood. No matter how many times you donate blood, no matter how many times you see gruesome killings on the screen, the veins pumping out such large quantities of blood can psyche you out. He holds onto the final seconds of his existence on this material plane. Not because he doesnt want to leave this world, instead trying to discern if he would rue the decision he just took.

He cries out in agony one last time, as it becomes lucid to him that his family and friends are going to judge him by his death. His cowardly death, his sprint to the finish line. Death was his liberation, his freedom from hypocrisy, affectations, mediocrity, incompetence, narcissm, second-handers, self-pity and irresponsibility.

Today was different!