[melsk58]

Ramblings of the suicidal.


I talked to God the other day. He laughed at me. This is pretty typical. We play this game. I threaten to die and He takes bets. It's sick I know, but there aren't many other games you can play with your creator. Free will will only take you so far.

Blood drips down my arm. I decide that it's probably enough for tonight. I put things away and then I pray. Sometimes for a better life, sometimes for an end. Tonight I pray for His pity. He tells me I'm pathetic and I agree, but I still need to hear it. Silence. He's bored with me. I climb into bed not bothering with the blood. Someone else will clean the sheets when I'm gone.

The next day is pretty much like the rest. I put on a happy face. Those are the only kind people like. Sad people are like the plague. Sad people are dark and strange. Most people can't be bothered with them. Discarded. I trip on an uneven part of the sidewalk and my cut scrapes against the ground. It's open. He likes to kick me when I'm down, so there are plenty of people to see it. Some people shout if I'm ok, but I just hurry inside my house.

In my room I lay down on the floor facing the ceiling. It's dark. The blood seeps into the carpet. I used to care about things like that. I think about what my friends and family would say if they knew. I think about my funeral. Who will be there and what they will say. I used to think that only a few people would be there, but then I went to a funeral, for someone I barely knew, and I realized that there were lots of people like me there. People who barely knew the person, but just wanted to be part of the tragedy. I imagine that people like that will show up to my funeral. People who don't know my name, but would come and talk to each other about what a good person I was and how sad they were that I was gone. They wouldn't be that sad. They don't like sad people.

And God would laugh because he knows the truth about me. Maybe it would be a private service. I clenched my fists and realized that my whole body was shaking. I asked Him for forgiveness and He told me that it wasn't like I was going anywhere. A long time ago He had told me there was no heaven, that people just die and their bodies and other people's memories are the only testament that they ever lived. And eventually those fade. I think that's when I stopped caring about things like blood on the carpet.

By this time I am sobbing. It's partly fear and partly relief. I get up and go to the bathroom to get my anxiety medication and a glass of water. I take every last pill. When I get back to my room, I wonder if I should leave a note. But the clock is already ticking and soon I'll be gone. I guess God can tell them what happened. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep. I would never see the ceiling again. God turns to those around him and asks "Who had Thursday?"

[Serac]

It was written well, but I think you played God as too mean. I mean, it IS God, like he'd actually bet about him killing himself. Besides, he would know anyway right? Apart from the waves of depression, I thought it was actually pretty good. I'd say keep writing but, what with the pills and all.....

[SlickNick]

What can I say, I'm a sucker for these stories...
Anyway, I can say this ranks a little above average in my view, because it has a certain unique charm, mostly due to the characterisation of God and His part in the story. I'll keep reading from you.