I Am Alone

Have you ever given much thought to how you’ll die? I have, constantly. It’s been an intrusive thought for years now.

My depression had brought me down to a new all time low. Suicide was my only viable option.

A culmination of years of resentment towards everything and everyone was a clear influence on my decision. I made myself out to be invincible, invulnerable. I stayed alive out of spite, but not everything lasts forever.

If anyone was going to have any say in how I died, it was me and me alone. I made my way through my mundanely simple life with this one fact in mind.

Generally unhappy with my entirely average life, I was never good enough at anything. I was of average height, average weight, my grades at school were average, my alcoholism was average.

I thought I could kill myself with booze, but when I fucked up my liver beyond repair it made drinking near-impossible to swallow, I chose to start destroying my lungs by smoking instead. The average lifespan before the advancements of modern medicine was anywhere from thirty to fifty, nowadays it's almost doubled.

A shit deal if you ask me. It used to be, be born, go to school, become an adult, have six or more kids then die before fifty. I promised myself if nothing eventful happened in life i’d kill myself aged thirty. But here I am, aged twenty-five, ready to break that promise.

From the time I graduated high school, my life had gone nowhere but downhill. I couldn’t hold onto a job for longer than a year, never had a girlfriend last longer than a month, the last one was at least seven years ago, she fucked me up big time. I lost the majority of my friends, some stuck around but they were never attentive enough to listen to my personal issues.

My sister got into a serious relationship that was still going strong after a few years, my jealousy directed at them worsened my mental state to the point of avoiding any couples. I withdrew from society, hating intimacy although secretly longing for any type of affection.

I made new friends online, though they were too far away from me to ever interact with them directly. My only job I can call successful has just come to an end, a little family owned business that they were selling off. The new owner of the business fired all the old employees. But even that job, like all the others before it, had been handed to me.

In my spare time, one bad habit I had developed was meeting girls online, and getting overly-friendly with them. Things would go well enough until I discovered that they were under eighteen. Usually a sane and morally responsible person would end the conversation right there. Not me though, I’d continue the conversation like nothing happened. Eventually I realised how fucked up and creepy the situation was and immediately stopped all communication. It left a bad taste in my mouth with how okay I had seemed at the prospect.

Before this I had saved enough money to put down a deposit on a house, and succeeded in getting the loan needed. So I bought my grandma’s old house. But now I have no way of paying that back in the short amount of time in front of me. So here I sit, my desolate room with naught lights or music.

I couldn’t even afford proper furniture. All I had in my near-empty house were the contents of my bedroom from my parent’s place.

The silence was deafening, what was I going to do? Go out and actually apply for jobs. I tried that before and got fucking nowhere. Life always finds new ways to fuck you in the ass.

That’s when my mind drifted back to my personal suicide pact. I wasn’t thirty yet, but nothing else was gonna get better. I used to self-harm, so slitting my wrists was out. I could never do it with enough pressure or speed to cut deep. Overdosing on anything posed the risk of surviving. Getting in my car and driving into oncoming traffic doing over a hundred poses a risk to others.

I only wanted to kill myself, not others.

A good fashioned hanging seemed to me like the most viable option. Only problem was my knowledge of noose tying was severely limited.

Google search: how to tie a noose. Ignore the suicide watch warnings. I found a WikiHow on tying nooses.

Wrap the thing around the loop, I couldn't make it thirteen loops with the length I had. Then put that bit through the other bit.

Done.

I looked over at my oven’s digital clock, it read 14:32. Preparations were to be made. I mentally scheduled my suicide for exactly ten-past-seven, the time of my birth. This will be a thing I will control. No second thoughts.

I walked to the kitchen and got out my alcohol. One last drink. There no was no point in dirtying glasses, so I tipped the bottle of American Honey up to my lips. It was always so good drinking this shit straight.

Opening up the back screen door, I sit down and look over my quarter-acre yard. The plans I had for this place, I sighed. I then got out my last pack of Winfield Blue, one last smoke.

After the remainder of my whisky was drunk and the last of the cigarettes smoked I stumbled back inside.

The time was only 6 o’clock now. I made my way to my bedroom, getting out my phone and searching YouTube. Might as well waste some time beforehand.

Finding some long meme compilation videos filled the time. A part of me felt that perhaps I'd be so amused with these memes I'd postpone the main event. They did not.

It was now time.

I had tied my noose around my ceiling fan in the lounge room. I knew it’d support my weight. I stepped up onto the stool I had laid down underneath it. My legs were shaking. So were my hands.

Was I having second thoughts? No way in Hell. This was my decision.

I slowly but carefully placed the noose around my neck and stared over at the oven clock. 19:09, nine-past-seven.

I started counting down the minutes.

One, two, three… Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty… fifty-nine, sixty.

I kicked the stool out from under me. I was going out of this life on my own terms.

The rope went taut, the ceiling fan wobbled above me. My brain was slowly being deprived of oxygen. I reflexively clawed at the rope, but soon stopped after I could no longer feel my fingers.

Then I died.

***

Inhalation. Gasping for air. Croaking, coarse. Throat’s fucked up.

Eyes opening, fearful of surroundings. Unfamiliar forest. Sensation of touch.

Cold breeze. Attempting to gain bearings. Standing uneasy. Walking is difficult.

A pond over yonder. Ponds have reflections. Walk to the pond. Check reflection.

Fall. Fall again. Walking is hard. Walking… on four legs… hard.

Pond reached, a small success.

Reflection. Check it. Fear. Check it again.

Equine. Pony. Staring back.

Red eyes, grey fur, black mane and tail. Wings at either side. Red mark across neck.

Blink. Reflection blinks.

Panic. Reflection mirrors expression.

This is me.

I am a pony.

Look to the left. No one.

I am not dead.

Look to the right. No one.

I am alone.