Saturday, March 12, 2011

Mosaic- Chapter 3- Sleep

Swirling. Around and around. My head sinking, then rising again in a shock like lightning then sinking again. A picture of my life so far. I saw things blurry, like with water in my eyes. I saw stacks of cans sprawling out all over the table. They had the look of cans that someone had tried to stack and realized the futility of it all, then left like an incomplete pyramid.  There was some country music happening in my ears. I glanced to my right to see a line dance in full splendor consisting of no one I cared about at all. Their world could end now and I wouldn't have cared.

No one I cared about was there. My apartment. A place that your nightmares take note of to scare you in your sleep. Paintings on the walls, painted by some guy I never knew. Must have been me, but I don't remember painting a single one of them. One was a grave sight under the moon that said, "Cover me in ashes, abandon me in the cold, I'll still be here, I'll still exist." I knew it was me and so do you by the way in which is was written. Another was a sun and it said, "In the end, we all will fly, up to the heavens to the fire and fry." Another " F%$# the world and everyone in it." I shared my house with twenties of strangers that night. I was looking for a couple that could help me and neither was there. Just me with vultures doing line dances to Tim McGraw and the Indian Outlaw.

I had enough and went to bed. I laid on my pillow with the distant sound of people having fun and watched the world spin away into darkness and lands of mystery and confusion. My dreams were always confusion. They all ended the same way. Me experiencing the horror of death. I would wake just before the fateful moment, but felt everything on the way. It prepared me for the cold steel. I could fathom the permanence of the iron wheel rolling over a calcium shell. I could imagine what a last second slowed down would feel like and in fact, my dreams were accurate.

It was the night I decided to quit. The night I committed myself to higher learning. I committed to studying death and the ending of circuits. I attended the library, alone of course. I read books on ending one's own life. I like to look at it in the martyr point of view as all other suicidal kids. I studied every method, vigorously covering every potential flaw. I did not want to be some hospitalized cry for help or attention. I was a finisher every day of my life. I intended to finish this finally. I chose train tracks because no one who has laid their heads on that cold steel and had the guts to stay there ever survived from my studies. No one came in at the last minute and cut them down or got them to the hospital for a quick stomach pumping. People were killed on the tracks. Killed forever. That's precisely what I wanted.

This is as hard to write as it may be for some to read, but it is a true story. I left no room for error. I covered every base. I left this notebook as a note. I had pages and pages written over the top of due to the lack of vision in a drunken stupor. I left it on my bed where they could only find it after. I made my piece weeks before, so there would be no suspicion.  I told Will and Joe that I would never forget who they were to me in this life or the next. I told them I loved them with a love that no word could define. I loved them like rockets rising to the moon desperate to connect with the untouchable.

Then I went to sleep for a week.


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