11 blank pages

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


Follow a suicidal person during his last hour alive.

Submitted: June 21, 2018

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Submitted: June 21, 2018

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I stared at the screen in front of me. I got up, having just placed the last dot. I don't know why, but I was almost relieved. Usually I couldn't write more than a couple of paragraphs before having to put it all away. These thoughts had been coming more often lately, especially when I started to write. What had started as a novel had ended as a short story. I went to make myself a cup of tea and started to think about my life. I was a pathetic creature of flesh and bones, surviving solely on social security. After having paid everything that had to be paid I went to the same bookstore, followed by a trip to the same café where I ate a ham sandwich. The usual.
And I wrote. Not that I would ever get anything published, but it gave me a sense of freedom, to be able to create something of my own. I had considered applying for a job, but after last time, I don't think I could have handled it. When your local Walmart doesn’t want you, it’s probably a sign. Others would maybe take it as a sign to get an education. Not me. I took it as a sign that nobody wanted me.

Maybe I should go out for a walk, get some fresh air. But first a cup of tea. No, I'll take it while reading through my writing. I put on the one clean t-shirt I had left and walked out the door, where I saw my neighbour walking up the stairs wearing winter clothes.
-Is it that cold outside? I asked her.
-Um, yeah, haven't you seen out the window today? It's snowing, she replied quickly.
She opened the door to her apartment, while I stared at the now empty stairway. I went back inside, put on a jacket and a scarf, and went out. While walking down I saw out the windows in the stairway, and it turned out to be snowing.
The first thing to hit me after opening the front door was the wind, followed by a lot of snow. Almost before I had gone out the door, it slammed shut behind me, and I started walking down the street, towards the park. I really wanted to experience something else than different shades of grey, but as the wind was against me, I had to give up after just a few steps. I started going up the street but hadn't gone more than a block before wanting to turn back again. Up the street was nothing of interest, and after all I had gotten to breathe in some (almost) fresh air.

I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and started walking downwards. I had to use all my strength to open the door and cursed the elevator. It had to be closed for maintenance right now, in the middle of the worst storm I had ever experienced. I started the long trip up to the fifth floor, which gave me more time to think.

What if I killed myself? I thought. It would be a sad funeral. If you took away all the family members that probably didn’t even want to be there, the priest would be the only one. I can't think of anyone who would actually grieve after my death. Sure, they would be sad, but it would be more of a "polite" sadness, a mask people put on to not seem like terrible human beings. If I could've afforded it, I would probably be an alcoholic or a drug abuser, but no. I walked in the door, and prepared to die.

It's a pretty strange feeling, knowing that in maybe 20 minutes you're going to lay on the floor, no breath coming out of your mouth, your heart finally getting some rest. I hadn't used a lot of time deciding how to go. I wanted to see through my story before I died, to die with a smile on my mouth. It was also the easiest choice. After all, this wouldn't be the first time I cut my arms. It couldn't be that different to just cut a bit deeper, a bit closer to the hands. I went into the kitchen and found the sharpest knife I owned. I walked over to my desk and put the knife against my wrist. Just get it over with, before starting to regret. Just when I felt the blood leaving my body for the first time in maybe 10 years, I heard my phone vibrate. "You have got a match". Really Tinder? Now? I put the knife in my other hand, hoping it would still be able to cut open a wrist. Having made the second cut, I dropped the knife. The match was the one girl I had thought to be unreachable, at least for me. Of course. I started to go through our first date, which would never happen, as I started to feel my sight get worse. I looked over at the computer, while my sense of regret grew bigger. Bit late to regret now, I thought, as the pool of blood on the floor got bigger. The last thing I saw before blacking out was the bottom of the screen.

"Page 11 out of 11. 1 word".


© Copyright 2020 Henrik E. Olsen. All rights reserved.

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