When your life itself is a nightmare, the only way to wake up from it, is to die, and if death is not anywhere near you, you might have to find death yourself …
My life has always been a nightmare. Not that I haven’t had good times at all, but sigma good times minus sigma bad times would definitely take minus value in a number line. For you, I might be just another person, but for me, I am myself, and to be myself;-to be a sinner before religion, a criminal before the courts, and to be a coward before the society, and to know that it’s not going to get any better, when in all the horizon of the future there is not a single star of hope, life really doesn’t feel all that great. .It’s not anymore a choice between living like a coward and dying like a man. it’s a choice between living like a coward or dying like the same, and I chose the latter, mainly because it involves , little , or no , to be precise, humiliation , at least on my part. My only fear of death is re-incarnation, I really have had enough this once… But I can't think of any other way out of this hole.
It’s hard not to care, when you know that no one, no one at all, is going to miss you, going to pray for you, going to cry for you or going to ask you not to leave. When you can’t find a reason to live for, that itself is enough reason to die for. Newton was right to say that every action has an equal and opposite reaction for I am now facing the equal and opposite reactions of my actions –of cowardice, crimes and sins. With all due respect to the bard –“all the world” really “is a stage”, “and all men and women merely” are “players”; “but one man in his time” doesn’t “play many parts”; at least not all men, cause all my life I’ve played only one part, the part of the villain, of the bad guy. May be I don’t even qualify to be called a man, or even human for that matter. It's like I'm in a sea of darkness and I feel like I'm only going to keep sinking deeper and deeper until I've run out of air to breathe.
Out of all murders I’ve committed mine, is the most carefully planned murder ever. As funny as it may sound, I wanted everything to happen according to plan. Nothing was different; it was just another murder, the only difference being: the murderer and the murdered bring the same person- myself.
Everything was clearly planned. It’s Friday the 21st of June 2009; so no one would look for me till Monday morning. All doors are bolted. At 11.56 I would drink the methadone tablets -crushed and dissolved in vodka: which will take effect in four minutes. At 11.57 I would throw the hanging rope around my neck and climb up the stool, at 11. 58 I would take out the Browning 9x19mm Hi-Power handgun from my left pocket and at 12.00 midnight, as I feel my throat burning, when the methadone takes its effect, I would push the stool with my right leg and shoot the revolver with my left hand.
That will end it.
When the sun dawns on Saturday – I will be a dead man.
My non-existence is not going to make any difference whatsoever; the world minus myself would remain the same. Matter will still attract matter in proportion to mass and distance; light will still, under the same circumstances, be reflected at the same angle; and will still travel with the same velocity. Air will still be lighter than water, and gold heavier than iron; nothing lost, nothing gained.
For the first time in a long time, a feeling of happiness electrocuted me. The feeling that it is finally coming to an end, brought with it a deep sense of pleasure. The absoluteness of death amazed me, the beauty of death, is that, when you’re dead, you’re dead, there is no turning back whatsoever.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."
Time passed …Minutes felt like millennia. The last few minutes on my existence …The final countdown has begun
EVERYTHING SHOULD GO ACCORDING TO PLAN.
I took the bottle which read methadone, not realizing that those will be the last words I’ll read in my meaningless subsistence, took a handful of tablets, put them in the vodka, and drank it all in one mouthful.
I walked towards the stool, with the lightest heart.
I threw the rope around my neck and climbed on to the stool and exhaled a deep breath of relief.
I took the handgun out of my pocket and pointed it at my head.
I could feel my throat burning.
It started to feel cold. My heart started pounding, my shirt started to get wet with sweat, my lips started to tremble, my whole body began to shiver.
My mind was overwhelmed with feelings, desire for life, fear for death, of envy, of agony, of regret... For the first time of my life, I started to feel a love for my life.
I heard the hand gun thudding the ground. I couldn’t think of anything, I wanted to breathe again, to live, “I don’t want to die”, but it’s too late… In a few minutes I’ll be a dead man, and no one can do anything about it, no one at all. I was desperate to keep my heart beating, to keep my lungs breathing. I was fighting a losing battle- a battle for my life. I had no strength to fight back. I could feel the paws of death clutching me; I could feel his tentacles infecting me with venom. I could feel the venom running down my arteries. What could I do but succumb myself to death? I was alone .And I was dying. And I....
300 miles away a woman just conceived.
Death is not the end- it’s just the beginning, it’s not a full stop, just a comma.