Can’t Have a Suicide Without I, Phase One – An Unfortunate Discovery

I sat alone, watching the clouds roll by and trying desperately to find one reason not to kill myself. As if to mock me, or my subconscious trying to encourage me, the clouds took shape before my eyes. I saw a bottle, short and squat, that looked like the poison in old black and white films. A contrail from a jet hit an elliptical cloud and formed a noose. And that one looks like a shotgun.

When you are trying to figure out a reason to live and the universe wants none of it it seems the answer is clear.

I stopped by the hardware store and bought a stud finder and a nice thick rope. Once home, I youtube’d how to tie a noose, surprising the number of hits that brought up. My mind was clear and I applied my necktie skill and had a suitable slipknot in a matter of minutes.

The stud finder and step ladder found a strong support beam and I used a hammer to chip away the drywall. A rather large mess but that would be for someone else to clean up I guess. Insulation, like great globs of cotton candy, covered my arms and the itch began almost immediately. Another thing to be grateful to end soon, my mind whispered darkly. I just chuckled.

Taking the rope and wrapping it five times then pulling out a section a little and sliding the knotted escape plan through. I kicked the ladder away and hung by arms to make sure the rope didn’t slip and that it held. It was perfection. If you are going to do something, don’t half ass it my aunt would say. Usually a week or two before another failed suicide attempt for attention.

After the third it became eye roll inducing. After the fifth we all hoped she would get better. Not mentally, but better at doing the deed. For fucks sake, it was getting old ignoring the calls from the hospital.

Not me. I am going to do it right.

The only question left is do I leave a note?

I grabbed paper and pen and sat at my desk. The blank page mocked me. What do you write? A contrite apology? If I was sorry I think I wouldn’t do it. Don’t want my last words to be a lie. Unless I apologize to whoever finds me swinging. That would be heartfelt. Who do I want to say good bye to?

My friends abandoned me, got sick of my endless depression and suddenly had better things to do. My family had written me off years before. No love life since she left and every other woman decided I was not worth the effort. I told them I was a real fixer upper. A good project for someone willing to take the time, but who has time?

I apologize to whoever finds me, swinging like a fat ceiling fan from the hole I chipped in the ceiling. I realize what a pain in the ass this is, the drywall, insulation and what I am going to assume is my final bowel movement. The twenty dollar bill under this note is for you as a tip. I know it doesn’t remove the sight or erase the image from your mind but it is something.

Which is more than anyone did for me these last few weeks. I begged for help from anyone who would listen. From God to the mailman, and the answer was always the same. Or the lack thereof I should say. I bring nothing of value to this world any longer so I am ending it. I wish to be buried under a tree so I can finally give something back to the world that never gave to shits for me.

Again sorry for the mess. Tell my family and friends I warned them this was coming. And to politely fuck off if they pretend to be sad. No tears for a corpse when your desert eyes didn’t weep for me living.

A bag of dicks to all of you


Seems concise and to the point, best penmanship I have had in years. I considered adding xoxo but thought that was a dick move.

I have no idea why, but I wanted to dress up for the event. I put on my favorite shirt, sans the, the noose would have to do. My vest and pocket watch, and to complete the ensemble, my favorite dress socks. The purple ones made from silk. They make any outfit pop. Like my eyes were probably about to do.

I climbed the step ladder and put the rope around my neck. One last look around at my worldly possessions, all meaningless I now understood. The videogames unbeaten on the shelf. The unread books that would remain that way. My computer running BitTorrent and seeding the last ill gotten gains until the power was shut off. All of it shit. Everything is shit.

And without thought I kicked the ladder away and did a one foot plunge. The sudden stop was terrible. My neck did not snap and I realized it would be a slow choking death for me. Why would things goes easy starting now?

Minutes passed and I just hung there. I could breathe. I shouldn’t be able to. The rope was taut and I felt the pressure one my throat. But I just seeemed to float above the floor.


I reached up and tried to tighten the knot to constrict my trachea but it was no good. I jerked about and all I did was sway like a pinata. This made no sense. I should be choking to death not hanging around like a fucking party favor.

And my arms itched like crazy. Insult to fucking injury rigjt there.

After a few minutes of contemplating my sudden inability to die I managed to get my feet onto the entertainment center and release enough slack to slip the rope from my neck. Side stepping the mess I made I took a long cold shower to get rid of the itch. You do cold so the pores stay closed. Then hot to get the rest of the fibers.

I may be a failure at suicide but I know a few things.

Why didn’t I die? How did I manage to fuck up something so simple?

I grabbed the rope and put it around my neck as I sat on the couch. Then I yanked it as hard as I could. I couldn’t breathe. I scrambled to get it off. Gasping, I sat shaking and stared at it. Why would it choke me now but not as I hung from the ceiling?

I climbed the ladder and reattached the rope. Slipped it around my neck and kicked the ladder away. And just hung. Breathing like nothing was wrong.

What the fuck.

Now I was determined to die. This was a sick fucking joke. The universe ignored my every desperate plea and when I finally get the nerve to end it. Nothing.

No. Fuck that. I will not be cheated by death like I have by life these last ten years.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife and took it to the bathroom. I sat down in the tub and with closed eyes made a long cut down my left forearm. I felt the pressure and opened my eyes to watch the crimson drain.

There was a long red line where the blade pressure was applied and no blood.

No. No. No. This was not happening.

The knife was dull. The only explanation. I did a test cut on my finger tip.

Fuck. Ouch. Blood welled up from the cut.

Angrily I sliced down my right arm. Nothing. Across my thigh. Nothing. My throat. Nothing. In a rage I grabbed the hilt in both hands and drove it into my chest.

The blade tip broke and the blade itself bent.

This makes no sense. None what so ever. And my fucking finger hurt from the cut. I want to die! I want an end to this miserable half life I have been living. An escape from the cold. To not feel this lack of anything but pain. Let go of this facade. This self made prison.

Dejectedly I went to my room and quickly fell asleep. Failing to die is exhausting work apparently. My head barely hit the pillow before consciousness left.

I never remember my dreams but tonight they were vivid and so real. I was sitting by the river watching ducks swim. I was mindlessly tossing bread to them. Part of me knew this wasn’t reality, I didn’t feed ducks bread it was bad for them. It made them sick and has no nutrition.

But I kept tossing chunks mindlessly.

Something whispered my name. I looked around but no one was there. It wasn’t until I leaned back on the bench and looked up that I saw… it. A human shape floating amongst the clouds above me. As I watched it slowly sank down to the ground beside me the indistinct form became clear.

It was a woman. A perfect woman with piercing blue eyes and ling black hair. She looked familiar somehow but I could not place where I knew her from. She was naked and simply stunning. My mouth hung open and words escaped my mind. They fell in a tumble onto the ground around me, half formed.

There was just a burning hunger.

“Hello Mikhail. It has been a while hasn’t it?”

I stared at her, a word hovering just out of reach. Tantalizing and infuriating in the same instant. A name maybe. The letter J seemed to be on repeat.

“Shh. It will come back to you eventually. I am not surprised you have forgotten me. We struck a bargain ten years ago. Yes we did. You belong to me my love.”

She reached out and stroked my cheek. Gently, like a lover. Then she slapped me and my head snapped to the side. I sat blood onto the ground and looked back at her. Hurt gleaming in my eyes. The blood congealing on the informed words around me.

“You are mine.”

She reached out again and I flinched. She smiled in pleasure at the reaction. Leaning in she kissed me on the cheek. Then again. She kept kissing my cheek down to my neck. A small moan escaped my mouth at the joy of it. And then her kiss turned to ice on my collar bone. It hurt, but in the good way. I ran my fingers into her hair and pushed her closer. The ice felt so good I gasped in pleasure as if about to cum from it alone. My fingers entwined in her hair I realized I was pushing her towards me and pulling her hair at the same time. I felt more than heard her moan with me. Electricity raced through me at that.

Finally she pulled away and whispered in my ear, “Sleep now but remember, you belong to me.”

When I finally woke up and stumbled into the bathroom to take that first morning piss I stopped in shock when I saw my reflection in the mirror.

On my left clavicle was a perfect blue impression of kissing lips. My hand traced across it and gentle pain radiated from it. I stared at it in shock, the dream running on loop through my mind.

All I could see were ice blue eyes.

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