Suicide he thought.

11:56p.m. somewhere in Europe

Suicide he thought, Escape. The doctors had told him that he was dying, yet it was

more than that. They told him he would suffer greatly before he died. He wanted to be

back at home, or what he knew as home, yet he could not go back, for what he knew as

home, as his life, was gone. He wanted to be in his past, which had faded away, leaving

only memories. This curious neurological phenomenon which Arthur Schopenhauer

identified as the source of madness was the only thing remaining of the distant childhood

and happiness. Buddhist philosophy kept going through his head, which stated that life is

suffering and the elimination of desire is the only path to peace, yet what about the

negative effects on life. It is simpler to say to man who wants a lot to stop wanting but to

a person who gets evils, all he wants is to be free from evils, not gain anything new.

He paced around his room, as much as he could, and wondered what has become

of his life. Had this all been a dream? These and many other questions clouded his mind,

to which he added by smoking the freshly rolled joint.


Sitting in front of the computer, blankly looking at the notes that he had been

keeping about his life, he thought to himself about his childhood. He had kept notes on

the computer because after all he was living in a technological age. As far as his

childhood is concerned, he thought about his life in the family country home, surrounded

by forests and cool summer evenings. The memories were so vivid and he just wanted to

be back there again, experience it again. Those days are far away now and he is alone in

this picturesque city, longing for a different time in his life. The days here are numbered

and soon he will be in a place he had come to see as home, but he is scared that the

shadows of this city will follow him back. Being ill allowed him to reflect on the whole

concept of being ill, it is odd to conceive of being not like the rest. Although, he often

thought of himself as being different, this was a physical demarcation from the rest of the

people he knew. He found himself alone, with people sympathizing but not truly

understanding what he was going through. How could this have happened he though to

himself, how could this have happened.

He got up and walked over to the fridge to get some left over pizza. He placed

the slice of cold pizza onto a plate and started up the microwave. Upon the completion of

the cooking, he took out the lonely slice of pizza and walked over to his lonely table and

sat down to eat. He was alone in his room, and although he can hear the noises of people

partying outside, he was disconnected from them. He was alone with his slice of pizza

and his glass of juice, which was already standing on the table. He ate his snack while

watching shows on his computer, since he had no TV; he watched all his entertainment

on the computer. He lay down in his single bed soon after in a daze and flood of

thoughts; it was complete silence outside, almost eerie. He fell asleep soon after in his

single bed, having put his computer on standby mode.

11:00a.m. still somewhere in Europe

He woke up tired and proceeded to his morning rituals of showering and washing

up, after which he grabbed his shopping bag, which he had bought at the store few days

before and started on his walk to get groceries. He ran into some people he knew in the

hall and exchanged a few nice words, fairly superficial and meaningless. On the walk to

the store, he saw a pigeon with its leg stuck between the bricks in the brick covered roads

of this ancient city. He wanted to help the bird but did not know how, so after some

moments of sad gaze he continued on his way..

The shopping experience was as usual. He had to replace a lot of his food which

had gone bad. Food there went bad quickly since by the time it hit the shelves of the store

it was already at or near its expiration. He found the things he needed, added some

chocolates for his minor pleasures and headed back to his room. The bag he carried was

full and heavy and it was not easy for him to carry due to his condition, he managed fine

though and upon the entrance into his room he pulled an apple out of the bag and held it.

This apple too, was on its way to meet its end, this apple too was lonely, he thought to

himself. He held the apple close to his heart, as though it was a prized possession, he

held it and stroked it as a mother would a baby. The apple was his friend in many ways, a

friend who would listen to him and feel with him. The apple’s life had come to meet its

end in his hand and yet the apple did not talk back to him. Would the apple rather rot

without being eaten, he thought. His misery was building up, especially seeing the

beautiful weather outside his window, and people enjoying their life in boats, moving

past him on the canal. He wondered yet again about the demarcation, how being ill

completely removed him from the world and into his own problem. He thought about

how he once was, how he could have been. Nothing seemed to make sense to him, and

he found solace only in his misery.

His day was spent reading, browsing the internet, and looking out his window. He

hit his joint from time to time, he thought it allowed him to see beauty of the world in

ways sober people do not. The special smells of cool summer evenings, the ways the

colors of the leaves had almost pierced his vision, with color of unreal green and gold.

He wanted to be free, to be alive, but he couldn’t. He got his pen and began to write in

his leather bound journal about his epiphanies of life.


How silly I find the world of human existence, really. I can not understand how

pathetic the life of the species really is. The life of fighting and war amazes me, war for

control of territory, for supremacy of ideas and make belief powers. How simple and

ridiculous the whole existence is. Like ants, humans will colonize a plot of land and

claim it as theirs, how they will fight to allow only certain others to remain within and

harshly punish the unwelcome ones. How simple, that society has found ways to demean

and torture others, based on their skin, or belief.


He wrote extensively, and realized what pathetic excuse for life, the humans had.

Perhaps he thought he had achieved something, something that he hadn’t before. Perhaps

he had realized the nature of reality, it is impossible for another mind to know what

insights may be gained by one will to confide in a royal gala.

He looked out his window yet again, he looked down towards the brick laid road

and thought to himself, what if. In a curious questioning of the extent of reality, he asked

the apple what if. He leaned in some more, before he knew it; he was falling, silently,

with his friend in his hand.


Being daytime many people quickly surrounded the ghastly sight, wondering

how, why, who. He was gone; the blood had filled the spacing between the bricks in an

almost artistic pattern. The apple had gently rolled out of his hand and lay nearby, in a

pool of blood, broken by the fall as well. A puddle around his head, his eyes still open,

his body in an odd position facing down on the ground.


His family had come to get his body from the morgue, a gruesome sight for any

relative. He flew back home in baggage, a piece of luggage to be checked and cleared.

An autopsy was later ordered which revealed an infection which could have been cured if

properly diagnosed.

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