Short Story Sunday

Because I caught a very nasty cold, and couldn't really move yesterday, I pushed Short Story Saturday a bit - but fret not! It's still SSS!

Between almost snorting 5 baggies of Coldrex, gulping down multiple liters of tea, placing cucumber slices on my eyes and sleeping for what seemed like forever, I managed to find an older draft. So here it is, unaltered, with the mention that hey, it probably sucks.

*drum roll*

                                                

                                   

                                                                       17.X

I am on a train, travelling at moderate speed towards my early demise. But let’s not start this on the wrong page.

There. This page is much better.

It’s my birthday today. I was born twenty years ago, give or take a few hours. Upon my birth, my mother decided to leave me. Not that she had a choice, really, since she was kind of, well... dying. But alas, I grew up fine. A bit suicidal, but fine.

This will be my last – and successful, I hope – attempt to end my glorious youth. Twenty seems like a very fine age to die at (give or take a few hours).

So here I am, writing about it and pretending someone will give enough damns to read a silly piece of paper left in a train.

The string of suicide attempts started at age 1.

Age 1: Fell out of the crib. Probably intentional.

Age 4: Choked on a piece of cake. Also probably intentional, even though I didn't know it at the time.

Age 7: Learned how to swim... almost.

Age 10: Got in a fight. Lost.

Age 14: Puberty struck. I met a girl. She was April’s child, she didn't understand the fine art of melancholia the way October children did. I got so sad about it I tried to cut my wrists with paper. Needless to say, it did not work as much as it fucking hurt. Never trying that again, that’s for sure.

Age 15: Tried to overdose. Later discovered the pills were laxatives. Most embarrassing suicide attempt ever. Ever.

Age 16: Tried to swim again. In the Great Pacific Lake. With rocks in my pockets. I have no idea why that didn't work, but I woke up on the beach some indefinite time later, butt-naked.

Age 18: Tried to jump off a building. Tripped before leaping and ended up tangled in several clothing lines.

And this brings us up to date. I've been carefully planning this for a while now, making every detail count. Everything must be perfect. I will not fail again.

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‘So what do you think?’ Great October asked after Seventeen was done reading.

‘I think this kid will be very frustrated when he wakes up.’