The end was near for this man. No more emotional escapes could he find. All he found was himself in a cold and isolated world. "Suicide," he thought, "Could be a the easiest way out, if I'm dead, that's the greatest escape." In fact, not a soul would care. The death of a suicidal man is like birth from a pregnant women. Unless she has an abortion, but the thought and creation was still conceived.
This thought raced through his mind over and over. Urging him, calling him to make his fatal escape.
"Maybe.. not yet. Maybe someone is out there that I can talk to, to get through this." As he tries to rationalize this feeling, he steps forward and looks around, no one near in sight. The walls are pitch black.
He quickly calls out "Hello? Is anyone there?" His fearfull voice echos. He sits back down and stares at the empty Valium filled skies. The white in his eyes soon turns blood red, and he suddenly starts to pace back and forth. Paranoia soon stikes him.
He takes out a knife he had stored in his coat pocket. "A slit to the vein, slow, yet painless."
He puts it back, still contemplating this rational thought. He thinks about his past, his family, his life before suicide became his best friend. Surely that would give him the urge to live. Although, pain has a horrible sense of humor.
His mother, since the man was five-years-old, always seen shooting up Heroine. His father, a convicted serial rapist.
And of course, his sister, a fine street whore. Not much you can say in a possitive manner about this young man's life.
A weaker man would have done himself in by now. But, maybe there's a chance. Maybe there is a strength deep down.
This man's life isn't the best in the world, he's not the richest nor the strongest. But, is the silent voice of death worth it? Is the casket of the grave necessary for this man to mentalize the "light" we call freedom?
Logically, if you look at it this way; If everyone with a bad childhood, or an awful past conceived this thought and gave birth to suicide, there wouldn't be a soul left on this earth. There is no escaping a rocky road, no matter what path you take. Sure, some roads are more rocky than others, but can this man understand this? Can this man grasp that there will always be a brick wall infront of him, and the only way he may pass is by climbing?
To climb is to take risks, to takes risks is to have courage, to have courage is to be able to take one owns life into his hands. Would a man like this be able to realize this, or would the thoughts have too much of an impact? Will the fear mongrels of the night peer their filthy heads and make this wall look impossible?
© Copyright 2016 MorganLitchfield. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Romance
Poem / Romance
Paste the link to picture in the entry below:
Paste the link to Youtube video in the following entry:
Cannot annotate a non-flat selection. Make sure your selection starts and ends within the same node.
An annotation cannot contain another annotation.
There was an error uploading your file.