Well, how the decision was arrived upon I am reluctant to disclose, for in doing so my act of stupidity would irrevocably be reinforced and established beyond doubt in the sensibility of every intelligent being, which undeniably would prove fatal to my reputation. So not wanting to cause any more mischief to my image than is absolutely necessary, I may be allowed to safely presume that reader discretion would ensue and save my reputation from such repercussions if any. The absolving could be owed to my tender age resulting in confused priorities hence such an action, or the idea of such an action.
So one day I decided to commit suicide. I sat drowning in my miseries and you can very well infer that a long lasting sleep did seem like a perfect solution to the melodrama I was embroiled in at that moment in time. I mean, honestly the idea seemed most appealing and when I say it, I just portray the shaken sensibilities, a slowly seeping insanity which I was fighting. I did not want to let the serpent make an Eve out of me but from the corner of my eyes I definitely was eyeing the apple.
So I started Google-ing the means by which this could be induced. I was just curious how people did it. The hangman’s noose? Stuffy. I looked at my ceiling. Holy crap! A light bulb was daintily hanging suspended by a very thin red plastic wire. It may be pertinent to mention that I live in the hills and houses here usually do not have fans, nor does the ceiling come with a provision to install one, which definitely would have found its uses, censorable no doubt.
Although this trend of architectural set up may not prevail for long, and we could soon see a revolutionary change in the coming years, due to global warming and all other concerns of serious nature. But I couldn’t be bothered with such significant issues at that moment given my state of mind, and already having had a tiny insignificant one at hand which demanded my immediate attention; hence, I grappled in search for a stronger suspender. My room sadly failed to provide me the final sanctuary, in case I needed one. I would certainly bring half the ceiling down with me if I were to put my neck on that red wire, and not even achieve what I had set out to do in the first place. How inefficient. It definitely was a bad idea and I inwardly cursed the architects and engineers for being so insensitive to people’s requirements. The idea, although quick and painless (in my imagination for I never got to prove the theory), had to be discarded for want of a stronger suspender.
Not having slept for months I kind of sleepwalked out to survey the trees where I made an amazing discovery. The branches were almost all parallel to the main trunk after an initial offshoot. It was technically a faulty kind of symmetry to give good results to the task in hand. The rope would definitely slide down to the base carrying me along, and if I tied it at a far end, it would do so with quite a force so as to slam one side of my body against its trunk and induce a couple of fractures in my skull. Now no matter how well earned a slam that would be I still did not appreciate it, nor to mention the bruises I would incur on my legs while crash landing if the branch broke. Seemed like another bad idea and not elegant enough to suit my reputation, the trees ought to have known better. I gave one disdainful look at those beautiful trees before making it back to my sanctuary of sadness.
I sat staring at the wall for hours before it struck me that the drugs would do it. Yes, it definitely painted a less dramatic and less action filled picture but a tiny difficulty still persisted. Now the thing was, I knew nothing about drugs. If I had cough or cold my mother would make a concoction of some sort with basil, honey and ginger and make me drink it hot before going to bed and I’d be fresh as a daisy the next day. A glass of water mixed with salt and sugar of some proportions would instantly cure a rumble in my stomach so you see my mother and her infallible remedies of the old were the reason for my lack of knowledge thereof, in fact I did not even know the names of many medicines apart from Paracetamol and aspirin and I had never heard of anyone dying from it.
So what else could I do, I did not have a gun but I did have a car in which to put my plan to action but then I thought again, what if after having gone down the cliff I realize I have broken everything but my wind pipe! I visualized myself, aaargh! The picture did not look any better here either so it had to be discarded without further ado.
In my quest for liberation from my torment I thought up of some ways which if put into action would have been the first of its kind, how about clamping your nose? Seriously, it could be the cheap and best deal. But of course the damage it could do to your reputation would be unbearable. After all I had no idea of what happened after death, what if I’d be hanging around in an invisibility cloak and be an audience to my own joke posthumously. Or if there was a society of dead who would find my way somewhat dishonorable, no gore and all that, and ostracize me for the rest of eternity. Survival strategies in either of the worlds, forbade me to acquire a patent for the idea. Although why was I even bothered of the after life I fail to comprehend now.
Then I walked. I walked for miles in all directions, I walked till my feet ached and almost dropped off its hinges. It hurt so much that I could no longer walk so I dragged them. I did look somewhat like a zombie from a Hollywood comedy, I wanted my legs to hurt more but nobody had ever died of hurting feet or an aching heart as I realized. So I went and got myself tattooed, “what do you want for a tattoo?” the man asked, “do you have something that can reach the core of my soul?” I answered, he was clueless so he inked a butterfly on my heart, sadly the pain lasted just an hour or two but my agony had not been numbed.
So I waited, I waited for the days to turn into nights and nights to turn into days but neither did lightening strike me nor did a car hit me.
I sat staring again at the walls, at the hills, the mountains, they were so boring, every morning just before sunrise they became translucent, the mountains, almost as if it were water and then the snow started melting from the top and they would turn orange the tips first that slowly radiated to the entire mountain range and then the green hills below before finally hitting my window and my heap of cigarette butts.
Then it was November, the cherry blossoms began to bloom, little white flowers at first that turned to pink and covered the entire valley in a matter of days, this was the time when we had our final exams while at school. The cherry blossoms heralded the end of the year and the ensuing winter holidays in every student’s life in these parts, the times when we made plans to visit places, when we made pacts with friends to write letters over the long three months of school break, we barely did keep that promise but it seemed real when we made them, we crossed our hearts and hoped to die, how silly we were.
And suddenly, by pink of the day, I found the idea not so appealing after all. Or maybe I wasn’t strong enough.
Or maybe I just was.