Attempted Suicide- Chapter #2: Solitary Confinement

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young man being treated at a mental institution is desperately looking for a way to end his life. After countless failed attempts, will he finally succeed or will his plans be put on hold?

Submitted: August 06, 2008

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Submitted: August 06, 2008

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Before I could realize that I had woken from my deep and cloudy sleep, the door to my cell slammed open with an explosion of urgency. My body instinctively leapt out of bed and into a defensive stance. In rushed what seemed to be half the entire hospital staff. Closely behind followed a slender woman wearing the long, white trench coat I had seen so many times before. My arms and legs were instantly restrained. This, of course, was not abnormal or a surprise of any kind to me. No, it had happened many times before. Once when they discovered my personal journal filled with my everyday thoughts and feelings—suicide. And again after they had reason to believe that I might use my hospital issued socks somehow to harm myself. I wish I had known that swallowing socks could do the trick. However, the institution staff was quite clever in this aspect and they beat me to the idea. Ever since this incident, I was forced to wear a one-piece, tear-proof, pad-locked uniform. The whole thing was entirely inconvenient and really unattractive might I add. But this time I had no writing utensil, no pad of paper, and my suicide suit had not become any more comfortable or fashionable than before. So what was the occasion? “Here it is! I’ve found it!” The nurse’s interjection answered my questions. The hypodermic needle was now out of my possession. It would take months, possibly years of trust before the institution would grant me enough privileges to plan another attempt. But how on earth could they have known about the needle? I gave it an excellent hiding location. Had the doctor discovered it the night before by chance? No. If he had, the needle would have been confiscated immediately. How they found out did not matter now. My prized tool to death was gone and so were my hopes of satisfying my suicide obsession. They would be moving me to solitary confinement shortly. There was nothing I could do to change this outcome. All I could do was practice good behavior now, and wait for another precious chance. A swift shank in the neck from the milky, drug-filled needle slowed my perception. Darkness.


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