... ... No. Nada. Nope. Can't do it. The thing that bothers me the most aside from primal instinct is that no one's going to care. Of course, that's one of the reasons why I'm doing it, but it's also one of the reasons that put me away from doing it for so long. If no one's gonna care then why not just go through with it? If no one's gonna care then why should I let others get the last laugh on me? Well, it doesn't matter either way in the end. I mean, I was almost done with it too. I already pulled against my inhibitions and removed the last of the obstructions holding me back. Yet, here I am, with a bruised shoulder, a broken ceiling fan, a rope, and me, sitting here crying like a little bitch. It's like God hates me. Man, I can't remember the last time I let out the waterworks. Don't know how long I've been sitting here. The last of the sunlight are starting to fade away as I cradle the fan head and blades in my hands. Shards of glass from the broken bulb on the fan head lie around me scattered. What did it take? Three weeks? Just three weeks to decide "yeah, I've done what I wanted to do in life. Let's just fucking off myself today. That's gonna solve everything." And it almost did. Forever. But no, fate wanted me to grovel for a while longer. Now I'll have to carry on knowing what I tried to do today. Fuck. Why didn't I just jump off a bridge or get pills or something? My neck hurts. I push the fan to my side and sit on the bed and take a look around myself. The floor's strewn with beer cans, energy drinks and cigarette butts that I bought this morning, a mess that I thought I wouldn't have to be cleaning up. The PC dimly lighting the room is autoplaying something. Don't care enough to know what. ... I should've been dead by now. This was supposed to be my grave. My body was supposed to be rotting here for the next few weeks until the stench reached my neighbors. Now that's no longer going to be true. Now, I'll have to keep on living like nothing happened. ... Another half an hour goes by while I sit on the bed. The tears finally stop coming out. I take a glance upwards at the place I was hanging from. Strangely, I don't feel much from it. Just a sense of bewilderment and mild discomfort in the surrounding heavy moroseness. Is this what crossing that line feels like? The exposed wires from the base of the fan dangle from the hook but otherwise it looked undamaged. Probably can get it fixed easily. ... I don't have a light bulb anymore. I have it GOOD in life. I get free money and play video games all day. I've literally got nothing to worry about. God damn it. I can't even do THIS right. Why the fuck did I do it? All I did was ruin things for myself EVEN further. Tears start welling out again as I become more and more frustrated, cursing myself, life and everything else with it. Low grunts and growls come out while I hit the bed and the floor with my fists in a desperate hope that it will fix anything. It, however, doesn't manage to even stop the pathetic sobs that leak out as I fail to act tough or smart about anything in life. A wasted life. A poor fucking use of oxygen. And there you go. I slip from the bed and fall to the floor. As if the situation could get any more laughably pitiable. I raise my knees to my shoulders and circle them tightly like it was the most obvious thing to do at this point. More sobs come out as I look for any sign of waking up from this nightmare that I've put myself into. Of course, there were none. There will never be any. I've made my own hell. ... It takes me a while, but the tears stop eventually. ... ... It's morning again. Nothing's changed. Except for the sunlight that's illuminating the room now. ... My stomach crunches. I'm hungry, despite me having no appetite. I'm not dead yet. Now it's hitting me. I'll have to carry on. I'll have to carry on living. I'll have to get up. I'm not fucking dead. ... It takes me a lot of force on my arm to pull myself upright. The hangover runs hammers on my head, almost on the verge of being nauseating. The disorder in the room is only slightly worse than the way it's been for months. The chair's toppled over, but not broken. The fan poorly rests against the TV cabinet in the sea of empty cans, boxes and wrappers. A stench, which I happen to notice only now, envelopes the entire room. The headache seemingly bringing out some heightened awareness in me. Knees still feeling too weak to stand upright, I shovel some cans near me to the side and get up to the bed with my hands and feet. The PC's still autoplaying shit. ... The fan still has the shoddily tied rope attached to it. It sickens me. The bile from yesterday threatens to seep back into consciousness once more. I desperately try to shut off any mention of it in my mind in order to retain my sanity. ... My knees find the strength to straighten up weakly. With unsteady, shaking hands I try to untie the knots on the rope on the fan but to no avail. My mind refusing to treat as anything other than toxic waste. Incompetence agitates the bile to rise once again and it takes me a minute to calm myself down. I grab a knife and a trash bag from the kitchen. Sure enough, the rope gives way easily against the blade. I toss it in the trash bag. The cans and boxes working against my feet go in too. ...Almost eagerly, I suspend myself into a mindless rhythm of bending down and picking up trash from the floor. The alternative was to think about anything else, something I now wanted to avoid as much as possible. While doing so I notice a few tiny shards of glass stuck to my hand seeping blood, and I stop to remove them. I was done with about half the floor before the trash bag filled up and I grabbed another bag to finish the job. My movements become slower, trying everything in my power to make this moment last longer. Anything was better than turning on my mind again, but I know this will too end, just like everything else. In the end, I was left with two garbage bags, and a floor that wasn't visible for months now visible again. With slow steps I start shuffling towards door with the two bags in hand and make it to the dumpster behind the apartment. Finally hurling the two bags in there marked the end of the momentary peace, leaving me alone with myself. ... A walk. I need a walk. I set off for nowhere, forgetting to examine whether I even looked well enough to be passable as even a hobo. Not like anyone cares. The same familiar sight of tents, battered storefronts and the smell of refuse greets me as I make it to one of the busier streets. ... There should be some reason why I ordered the rope along with the ramen and other stuff a week back. What was I thinking that day? What would I have used it for? I can't remember at all. ... ...There's not much to say. It was going to happen one day and I sure as hell wasn't prepared for it. A reanimated corpse. That's what I am. I've bound myself to this hellhole of a place, surrendered myself to its inhabitants and misery even when there's nothing stopping me from leaving. Even when I had the chance to have a new start in life in a place far away, free of charge. All because of my fucking autist brain thinking that this was a good idea for some bizarre, deranged reason that I still can't make out. Even now, I can go anywhere. I can leave this place and go to the parks in the better parts of the town. Get some fresh air and sights to look at. I could even get a fucking job as a cashier in one of the stores nearby. At least then I would be doing something and not sitting on my ass the whole fucking day. But I don't. Why would I? I've haven't changed. I've always been like this. I'll always be like this till I fucking croak. Just a factory-made failure making one shitty decision after another, retreating back to video games at the end of the day just to fuck everything up again at the start of the next. I had a sliver of hope that today would be different. Now that I've failed to suspend a neck from a ceiling fan, something would change in me. And where do I find myself? Pizza Time. Did I think I still had a chance with her when I got the ticket? Or did this place feel more like "home" than rock bottom? All I know is that she could have never entered my thoughts again had I gone anywhere else. I haven't come back here since that day. I peer in through the glass and, well, she's playing alright. Along with the Spinosaur chick and the Raptor dude. ... Glad she's holding up. ... ...What am I even doing? There's nothing left to say between us. Yet, I'm here looking for god knows what at this point. Things aren't going to change. I should leave before she sees me. My stomach starts to cramp as my suppressed emotions flare up, surrounding me with moroseness once again. I- I just want to stop feeling like this. It hurts. Living in Rock Bottom- hell, even the Navy was better than whatever this is. Why the fuck am I standing here? Why am I torturing myself like this? I want OUT. I want this to END. Why the fuck did I even think of coming here? I start jogging, almost running away from the store. Being anywhere else is better than being here right now. My breath is ragged and my heart feels like it will fail on me anytime now. It's not till I reach the railings of the nearest highway that I stop, completely spent and vision blurring as I sit down against the rail on the grass clearing. ... This may as well be a start of an endless cycle. Losing my mind the moment I get these thoughts into my head just to forcefully find new ways to make it all worse for myself as long as I'm alive. Returning back to the apartment now just feels like another way of perpetuating that, but it's either that or starving on a sidewalk. Can't die and can't live. Heh. ... I think I get it now. I felt something that I hadn't felt in a long while: desperation. Raw desperation. I felt the same yesterday as well. Putting it into words is hard but, it was a desperate call for some change. Any change. Something that would have broken the mundanity of my life. Something that would tell me that holding on for the past 23 years was worth it. I know very well that no such change will come. I've told myself that thousands of times. All I'm destined to is surviving as a rat in this dog-eat-dog simulacrum. Yet my primal instincts cannot stop proposing the possibility of hope every now and then. The morning turns into evening as I still lie on the grass, to the ire of no one. ... I set off for the only place I can go back to. ... ... It's been a few days. Out for a walk again. The less I stay in that room the better. Haven't fixed the ceiling fan yet. It's evolved into a sort of crutch for me. I feel like I'll relapse if I ever stop doing it. ... ... Well, I've got my resume printed out and the most formal looking clothes I've got. This should be be enough right? ... ... It's kind of nice, actually. Even though its just stocking shelves at a supermarket. Surprisingly I'm still allowed to get the checks from the Navy rolling in. Having small talk with my coworkers was the most amount of socialization I've had in months, though I still need to learn how to initiate a conversation. Maybe they're talking shit behind my back, but I don't really care. The nightmares have been getting less frequent now. ... ... Fuck, some kid puked on aisle 9. ... Great. Now I have to clean it up. ... ... You know, it's a pretty long walk but just being able to get out of Skin Row is worth it. Too bad rent is sky high everywhere except for the slums. Well, I'd still have to check the prices at the outskirts of Skin Row. It won't be much of a step up from what I have now, but at least I won't have to pass by that place everyday. ... Why am I passing by there anyway? It's not like that's the only way I can get to work. ... ... Huh. Boss' asking me to handle the register on alternate days. Guess I've been doing a pretty good job then huh? I'll give it a try I guess. ... ... The feeling of mundanity was everpresent when I started working here and even before that, but I find it to be no longer be an issue. Somehow I've finally managed to become comfortable living in the apartment again. Haven't woken up in the middle of the night anymore for a while now. Still haven't gotten around to fixing the fan though. Summer's still being a good few months away. ... Deep down I know that's just an excuse that I give myself. ... ... I find myself in a familiar street again. Near a certain familiar looking store. I stand and stare at the storefront. ... Nothing today either. A great sense of relief washes over me, just like yesterday, and the day before. It took me quite a while, but looks like I've finally managed to put everything in the past. I can finally move on. I've been granted a blank slate in life once more, and funnily enough, all it took me- "YOU CANT FUCKING DO THIS! WE'RE THE ONLY REASON CUSTOMERS COME INTO THIS SHITHOLE!!" Just as I'm about to leave, I hear a shrill cry coming from the alleyway beside the restaurant. Coming from someone with a very familiar voice. I peek in and see her arguing with a fat, but burly-looking dinosaur. Her wings, or what's left of them, were spread out and her body assumed a threatening pose. Beside her were the Spinosaurus and the Raptor, looking distraught. "The only thing YOU brought into my restaurant were empty tables, you fucking whore. The only reason you three played here on my dime for months on end is because I'm just too fuckin' nice, and now I'm telling you all to beat it." "OH YEAH!? Have you ever tried eating the shit that comes out of your oven?" His frown gets stronger, but he doesn't say anything. He stops for a moment, and then smirks. "Hey, hey, don't stress yourself out like that. Better woo in a man soon before the clock stops tickin' for ya, right? Oh wait, it's probably already over for you." "Who the FUCK do you think you are you two bit piece of shit? You- YOU-" "Fang. Fang, Enough." Fang tries throwing in a punch, but is restrained by the Raptor. The Spinosaur jumps in to help subsequently, but it doesn't keep her from growling and shouting at the owner. "Don't show your fucking faces here again." He slams the door at them. Fang keeps muttering curses under her breath. Eventually, the Raptor lets go of her shoulders as she stops flailing her arms around. She puts the hands on the netted fence beside her, facing neither of us. It's only now that I realize I overstayed my welcome and that I should leave, but it's too late. They were already throwing me glances for a while. I take a short few steps away from them, but something tells me walking away now would just result in a worse outcome. ... Looks like they'll deal with me later. The Spinosaur speaks up with some hesitation. "...You- You know, Fang, I've been talking to Jamie about this, and... and..." Fang still doesn't look their way. "...We both think we should put off the band for a while." "... Why are you telling me this now?" The Spinosaur sighs before speaking again. "This isn't going anywhere, Fang. We don't have people that want to listen to us, and the ones that we play for just ignore us. We try so hard, we come here and play everyday with new songs, and... no one care about what we do. It's... it's..." The Raptor, silent till now, finally speaks up. "We've got finals in a few weeks and, we gotta start hunting for jobs soon. Maybe you should too." "... Alright." Her tone is flat. "... Let's just go home for-" "Just... leave." "Look, Fang, I understand that this was a very-" "I just need to be alone for a moment. Can you go? Please? ...I'm sorry. I'll get back to you later." The Spinosaur and the Raptor look at each other, and then to me. "Who's the skinnie?" The Raptor approaches me with firm footsteps and a frown, but he's stopped by the Spinosaur. The two start whispering between each other. "...the one I talked about..." "...leave her alone..." "Please." Fang says with a bit more firmness in her voice this time. They stop whispering, and the Raptor comes up to me. "You do anything to her, and It's not gonna end well for you." ... Like I care anymore. I don't say anything, but it's not like I wasn't expecting this reaction either. They keep throwing glances back at us as they go, signaling me to leave as well. ... She's probably thinking about how I'm relishing her moment of weakness. ... I decide to turn around and leave. There's nothing I can do here anyway. ... A few footsteps in, I hear a voice coming from behind me. "What the fuck do you want." Good question. What do I want? Why am I here? This feels like a complete repeat of the day when I met her in the front of her apartment. How the fuck do I even start a conversation now after what just happened? What's there to talk about anyway? She doesn't want to see me, and the least I could have done to help her is honor that request. The words that come out of my mouth, however, are in direct contradiction of what I should be doing. "I just-, I just want to talk," "You've been stalking me this whole time? What do you even want from me?" "What? No! This is just the path that I take to work. I'm not trying to do anything to you-, I... I never wanted to bother you at all-" "Shut the FUCK up, Asshole!" "Fang-" "GET THE FUCK OUT. NOW!!" A shrill voice from the now open door startles us both. Silence befalls us as he slams it shut. We remain still for about a moment, but eventually Fang gets a move on. I weakly extend a hand in her general direction as she exited the alleyway. "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" "I- I'm not-" I relapse into choking on my words due to my lack of confidence. "I didn't mean to be here, I-" She lays her hand on the concrete wall as her steps slow to a halt, and turns her head to me. I can only describe the expression on her face as a form of tiredness mixed with disdain. I notice how tattered her clothes are. Must've worn them thousands of times with no spares. It's almost impossible to tell whether the incisions on the cloth are a statement of fashion or poverty. "Tell your excuses to someone else." She looks away. Her words are sharp, but her voice is weak, almost as if she's on the verge of crying. For some reason, she doesn't walk away. ... I take a few moments to assess what I'm doing here. I know what's this about. It's a question that I've asked myself thousands of times, and I've always known the answer. It's no different this time either. Yet, I... I want to try talking to her again. Even after what happened last time. Because... Because something tells me that this is the right thing to do. Even after knowing with such certainty that the only thing I ever brought her was harm, I feel like this is the last chance I have for reconciling with her. ... The two dinos are standing right behind me, which I take notice of only now. I haven't turned my head to see what their expressions are like. Wonder why they haven't kicked my face in yet. ... I sigh. There's a good chance that this will end up as nothing more than another exercise of my stupidity, but when have I ever shied away from that. Might as well get on with it. ... "Fang, I-" I step up to her, and she looks at me with bloodshot eyes. No longer showing scorn, but sorrow and defeat. "I know I cannot make up for how I hurt you and ran away from you. I don't know what happened to you during these four years, and I wish that I was there to support you in that time. Every time I think of you I wish that I could take it all back. Every single thing. I just want to hear what happened to you. I'm not looking for anything else. Please Fang. I just want to talk. Please. Let me help you." And with that, I take another shot in the dark. [POST-NOTES] Boy, this one was a slog to get through. Double the normal length this time around. I'm not happy with the somewhat repetitive styles of writing and words that I use. Maybe I should start reading books again. Haven't done that in God knows how many years now.