suicide forest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
a man is torn on what to do with his life in a forest and the ending is ambiguous.

Submitted: June 22, 2014

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Submitted: June 22, 2014

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The flapping of the tent in the cool morning air filled the man’s ears. No birds sang their beautiful songs, even they had nothing to say that morning. He looked at his cheap Casio even though he knew the time already, it was 9:30 in the morning. Light rain trickled down the outside of the minute tent. The man crawled on his hands and knees still wearing the same outfit he fell asleep in, a brown parka, brown slacks and a dress shirt missing its tie. The man adjusted his tiny round frames and unzipped the tent. The cool air greeted him and the grey sky stood above him. His tent sat in the middle of a hiking trail that was surrounded by dead black trees as dark and gothic as the sky.
He stood up outside avoiding getting mud on his slacks, like he cared at this point. He stared up at the sky with a grim frown as the droplets hit his glasses. He had grabbed the boots he now wore from the car as an afterthought when he had left it in the entrance to the forest the night before.
The night sleeping in the tent had been less than comfortable and his back ached from the ordeal. Stretching, he walked around the tent and up to a portable blue cooler. Opened it and pulled out a bottle of water sitting in a puddle of melted ice. He sat leaning on a tree in the grass with the wet bottle staying idle in his hand as he blankly stared ahead. If anyone approached his campsite they would assume he was staying there for entertainment. Something washed up 40 year old businessmen seldom did.
The rain still patted down on the ground and the wind blew gently now. He had picked a perfect spot to personify his thoughts, dark and depressing. Now his attention was drawn to the length of bright red ribbon he had strung out across the trees. His intent had been to come here and kill himself with the home protection pistol but the ribbon was to find his way out in case he changed his mind. And now sitting under the tree he had no idea what he wanted to do. Life just seemed too bleak and hopeless to get back in his car but he feared the experience and pain he’ll leave behind if he kills himself. That is partly why he had chosen this forest. That and It was a popular spot for just suicides, but mostly of hanging.
He thought of the revolver in the tent next to where he slept. The most painless way he could think of.
Jumping up, he threw the bottle at the ribbon and missed in a fit of rage. Feeling so torn on what to do, he fell to his knees crying. His whimpers slowly ceased and he looked up as he got an idea. Leaving it up to fate he pulled out his cell phone. Calling his sister, he decided that if she answers, he will get back in his car. If she does not, he will get his revolver. He heard the phone ringing and waited. ~~


© Copyright 2019 Wyatt Hester. All rights reserved.

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