My face slammed into the glassy ice. Blood began to pool up in the back of my throat causing me to hack up a few droplets of red saliva. Maybe it was my general lack of awareness of the situation but I didn't dare to move. I just glared back at that ice as if some long lost memory had come back to me and was staring straight into my eyes. What could I do but stare right back? Before this moment, I was scared about how this would end. I looked for answers everywhere through my loving family, my friends, God, her…when in actuality all I was looking for was in front of me the whole time.
I can't believe it had to come to this. All the hardships and the pain, misery, distorted thoughts and mixed feelings, sorrow, and even the humor, tranquility; this is my final stand. I did not cry. Through my battle with the demons of hell itself I did not cry, I was not going to dare show my pain to my enemies of the night. Nor shall they show their intimidation of me, though I know of its presence.
O how I dream I could have said goodbye in a better fashion than this. If only things could have been different, what kind of life could I have lived?
I suppose it's too late for that now. Here I am, lying on this broken ice above the compacted gravel, alone. I do not cry. Though I do not desire to pick my face up off of this ice, I'm aware that it is my destiny to do so. I'll be damned if I will stay here forever. No matter what happens to me I shall live on not in memory or in spirit, but in the decency of man. Or at least I hope.
But that hope builds up inside of you until it turns sour, then it proceeds to slowly transform your body into a distorted image that not even loved ones can distinguish. Hope is a word that has kept many of suicidal nature, depressed persons breathing; though it has given me a much different perspective. Hope got me to this point, through the nights where only darkness is present to wrap its arms around me tightly. But more importantly hope has led to my destruction. To possess too much hope shall make any man's will to live deteriorate faster than Pompeii did due to the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Though there are remains, no life can be rescued. Well here I am, watching my destiny rushing down an Italian hill to incinerate me. And yet I do not cry; I welcome those scorching flames that will soon burn up my already ravaged emotions. Hell I've long since felt fear. I've come to terms with who I am and what I have become and I have learned to accept my fate no matter how much displease my loved ones experience. No one can be expected to understand why this had to be my responsibility, my duty I guess you could say. But all of that has to be put aside; there is no changing the future. No God to save my wretched soul if there even is such a thing or man. No, if a god wanted to save me from this fate he had many chances. Yet here I am. Alone. I slowly stand up without a tear, without fear, accepting my predetermined fate by looking into the devilish eyes of my enemies of the dark. I do not cry. I will not cry.