Crossover

“It Was a Very Good Year” by Frank Sinatra blared over the speakers at Detective Carter’s retirement party. After twenty years of serving his community, he was pushed out of the force due to an overall lack of results in his later years, so you could safely assume that this song was ironic considering the circumstances.

He glanced down at the newspaper in front of him and read a disturbing headline, “SERIAL KILLER STILL AT LARGE, CLAIMS SEVENTH VICTIM IN TWENTY DAYS.” His wrinkled face screamed a hellacious existence; he’d been beaten and battered by the game of life. His bristly moustache had remnants of alcohol resting within. Detective Carter shook his head and ordered another shot of rum. The bartender glided over to his seat and poured it for him, and continued to do so after the shot pourer stopped at one.

The detective spoke, “I’m not paying extra.”

“With your pension? Ha. You should be buying the whole bar a round.”

“Funny.” He tipped his head back and swallowed the rum without hesitation. “Fill me back up, I’m going outside to have a smoke.” Detective Carter turned in his chair and reached for his jacket to brace himself for the cold Yonkers autumn.

As he walked towards the exit, he felt a dark presence enter him to his very core. He felt it deep within himself, yet proceeded to push the door open. Once outside, he reached inside of his coat jacket for a fresh pack of Newport 100’s. He did his ritualistic exercise of packing the cigarettes, three times from each direction. He tore off the cellophane that enclosed the pack and tossed it to the ground with no regard.  

“Littering is not good, detective.” The man behind the voice stepped out from the shadows and stood two feet from Carter.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Should I?”

“Considering you’ve spent the last year and a half trying to catch me, I’d say you should, yeah.”

The detective’s mouth sat agape as the man strided over to him to look him in the eye.

“How does it feel to know that I’m not close to done? I’ve perfected my craft, more than you could say for yourself. You’ve exhausted every method to catch me, yet it can’t be done? Why is that, Jon? Want me to fill you in?”

“Be my guest. You’re somebody else’s problem now.”

“Ha. That’s funny. You’re funny, Jon. You know something, detective? And I use that term as loosely as possible because you’re nothing short of a living, breathing punch line. You’re an old washed up drunk who couldn’t catch a seven year old playing freeze tag.”

Jon let out a deep sigh, clearly becoming agitated at the words this man was lashing at him.

“What’s the matter, getting under your skin? Truth hurts doesn’t it? Now let me cut to the chase here. Ha, what a turn of phrase, huh? Maybe if you’d done exactly that I’d be rotting on death row right now, but no. You didn’t have what it takes and never did. You’re a disgrace to your profession and the force both. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jon.”

“Say what you need to say and get the fuck out of my face.”

The man let out a sincere belly laugh and leaned back against the wall. He turned his head towards him and spoke freely.

“You’ve spent the last, what, fifteen or so months trying to get me, Jon? What’s one thing you didn’t do?”

“Enough with the riddles, either say what you need to say or leave me be.”

The mysterious man took two steps back and walked in a short circle. He stopped and gathered his thoughts before letting them out into air between them.

“What you did wrong, what they all did wrong, is that you and everyone else who is on my trail neglects the notion of thinking LIKE me. Think like a ruthless, homicidal maniac. I know, it’s not easy for you heathens to do such a thing. I want to be caught. I want my name to live in infamy.” He took a turn and began to walk away. With his back turned towards the detective he said, “My name is James Altiwood and I will turn over the ends of this Earth to prove my point… and you will witness it. Have a good night, Jon.”

Jon disappeared into the shadows of the night and Detective Carter stormed his way back into the bar. He was furious. That was until he reached his seat, rum on the bar in front of him. He allowed the shot to slither down his throat. He sat back and went through what James had said to him in his head. As the words spun around like a rampant tornado, he stood up at once and placed a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “Here’s your tip, have a good one.”

About an hour had passed before Detective Carter pulled into the Home Depot parking lot. He stepped out of the green Ford Taurus and made his way to the automatic doors. The sliding doors opened and he walked through them with dark intentions in mind.

He thought to himself, “first things first, garden department. James wants me to think like him, then that is exactly what I will do.”

He did just that, once stumbling upon the garden department he came across a teenage boy wearing an orange Home Depot smock. As Jon called for his attention, the boy turned in his direction. His hair was a mess and he wore a plaid shirt beneath the smock. The worker’s name tag read BILLY. He asked if Jon needed any assistance. Jon shook his head yes and asked where he could find a hatchet and a shovel.

As Billy directed him to the hatchet first and shovel next, he thought to himself that he may have just waited on an aspiring serial killer. He was right.

Here

He awoke on a park bench, sitting next to an old man wearing a surgical gown.

“It’s about time you woke up. You must’ve been laying there for hours.”

He sat up and shook his head, perhaps knocking the cobwebs of slumber away from his brain. Putting his head in his hands, he seemed to be confused.  He was clearly disoriented and eventually asked the man next to him how he had gotten here.  When no response was given, he turned in his direction and realized that he was gone.

The man rose up and strolled down the pavement and came across a young kid playing alone in a sandbox. Scratching his scrappy beard and fixing his Marc Jacob suit to get the wrinkles out, he stopped and let the moment fill him, past memories overcame him. Memories of similar times, he staggered backwards and had to sit under a nearby tree to collect himself.

“Hey kid, where are your parents?”

He turned his eyes to the child’s direction. Again, the child in question was gone. Out of the corner of his eye, the man noticed a water fountain. He figured that maybe he was just dehydrated and was in need of some water.  He stepped over to the fountain and leaned his head down, taking in the water flow.

A brown SUV pulled up nearby and approached the old man that he had spoken to earlier. Six men, all wearing different colored hoodies huddled around him and began to assault him until he collapsed to the pavement. He tried to speak up and say something, perhaps save his life. The words would not come to him.

Putting his hands on his head, he let out a shriek of rage, frustrated with the ways of this world. He tried to run over and assist the dying man, but he stood up and walked away as if nothing had happened. The SUV circled the area. The old man in the surgical clothes waved them down and they pulled up in front of him, opened the door and he hopped in the van.

His head spun. “Where the fuck was I?” he thought to himself. He turned around and saw a woman before him.  She was gorgeous. His first thought was that she was an angel, but she lacked the wings of one.

“Hello.”

“Who are you?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself the same question?”

“What? No. My name is Sheldon Jameson and I live in New York. This clearly isn’t New York, so where the fuck am I?!”

She chuckled and walked around him. Her blonde hair was kicking in the wind, dancing, teasing him.  I told her to have a seat with me on the bench nearby but she declined.

“I will stand by this tree, though.”

He didn’t argue with her. Sheldon made his way to the tree and leaned down next to her, back against the tree.

“How long have you been here?”

“You tell me, silly boy. This is yours. All of it.”

“What? No. I’ve never been to this place in my life, how can it be mine?”

“It’s mine too. Yours, his, the boys, it’s everybody’s. We made this together.”

He rose up and was visibly agitated with how this conversation has went thus far. His face turned a brighter shade of red as rage began to take over.

“Listen, lady. I don’t know you, you don’t know me, now stop breaking my fucking balls and tell me where the fuck I am!”

“Calm down. What is your name?”

“James Sheldon.”

“What’s that? But just a few moments ago you said your name was Sheldon Jameson. Who are you, again?”

“My name is Sheldon Jameson and I live in New York.”

“Are you sure?”

“…No. No, I’m not. What is this place?”

She motioned her finger to tell him to look behind him and what he saw startled him. There stood a seven foot man, a near giant, telling Sheldon, or James, to come with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he did so.  They walked together down a paved pathway and eventually reached a forest so beautiful that it actually took his breath away.

He needed a second to collect himself before he could continue on. The giant kneeled down before him and placed an arm on his shoulder, which seemed like a twig in comparison.

“What is wrong, my friend?”

“I am not your friend. What is with everyone here calling me that? I don’t KNOW you people. Why am I here?”

“Didn’t you used to ask yourself that question a lot? I’m sure many of your kind have. It must be a quite the transition for you. You have no idea where you are, or the beauty of it. Do you even know where you have been?”

“Why should I care where I’ve been? I’ve been to a lot of places. Chicago, Pennsylvania, New York, Virginia, California..” he was cut of mid-sentence by the seven foot man with silver locks down to his waist.”

“I have heard stories of these places that you mention, but that is not what I mean. You are far beyond the land you once resided in. Are you ok to continue our journey? There’s something you must see. If you cannot keep up, I will carry you.”

“No, no, that is not necessary. It’s just… this place. It’s astounding. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, so pleasing to the eye.”

“There are many places like this here and I’d like to show them to you. Come.”

Sheldon, or James, stood on his feet and began trekking through the forest with him again. He asked for his name, and he said it was Samuel. They made small talk for about a mile or two, mainly about what life was like back home for Sheldon, or James.

“We’re here” said the monstrous man. “Follow me.”  He walked behind Samuel as he forged his way into a lavish castle. He had to use a handful of different keys to open the door. This prompted Sheldon, or James, to ask just what was so important in these quarters.

“You are.” Samuel said.

Samuel pushed open the stone door and told him to go inside. He followed his orders and ventured into an empty room.

“Is this a joke? Why am I in an empty room? Explain yourself.”

“Give me a second. First of all, what is your real name? I ask you this once.”

“My name is Sheldon Jameson and I live in New York.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. My name is Sheldon Jameson and I live in New York.”

“Step forward and stand in the middle of this room. When I tell you to look up, I want you to do just that. Do you understand me?”

Sheldon nodded in agreement.

“No. Tell me that you understand what I just said to you.”

“I understand.”

Samuel stepped out of the room and into a corridor nearby.

“Sheldon! When I flip this switch, I want you to look straight up, you got me?”

“I got you.”

“Look up.. now!”

Sheldon looked up and saw a bright light, actually a variation of them. Purple and blue lights colored his figure. Tears came over his face and he stepped away from the light. Samuel came out of the darkness and stepped forward, approaching Sheldon.

“Is this heaven?”

Samuel giggled to himself and said bluntly, “no sir, you were already there.”

A Letter To You

Sarah,

I don't get how you thought that being your friend was my goal. I'm not saying that I didn't like being your friend. I can be anyone's friend, but not yours. Our relationship is too deep for friendship. It's painfully obvious that we want different things and I can't stand for that. I can do a lot of things, but I can't sit idly by and watch you give yourself to other people who don't deserve you. Yes, I feel entitled to have you. I'm sorry that I feel that way, but I do. You won't find another me and I won't find another you. Ever.

I know that opening up is not easy for you, and it's not easy for me either. From the beginning I knew that you were a special person. What does it take to get you to love me? You say that you do but never show it. I always did. I did everything that I possibly could to show you just how great things could be between us. I remember you asking what I expected out of seeing you. I got what I expected. A great night, we laughed and drank and had a lot of fun.

I don't feel like any of this was a waste of time. At all. Getting to know you, seeing you smile, making you laugh will always be a part of me. I thought progress was made that night. I guess I was wrong. One thing I don't understand and never will is how you feel that everything was meaningless. Just another guy seeing you. You knew what I wanted. It was you. It's always been you. It still is, but you made it clear that it can't be.

Knowing that you can go around and be with any guy that shows an interest but not me is incredibly hurtful. What did I do that was so wrong? I feel that we had a real honest to god connection. You say that you loved me in a special way, but you were always distant. Why? Why did I have to go to extreme lengths to get your attention? I'll never understand that. I'll never understand how we can have what we had and you just brush it off like it's nothing.

I said what I said because I was really upset with you. I want this to work. You don't. And that sucks. It really sucks. Everything that I said was true. You don't care about me, what I feel or what I want. You never did. It's always been about you and that's not fair. You say that these words hurt you, but you do nothing to prove me wrong.In a way, it's not even my place to say things. But when you look at it, it is. All of the effort, love, money and time is lost on you.

Is it because it's me who does it? Why can't you see yourself with me? We get along so well most of the time. It's like everything I've ever done gets pushed by the wayside and I really don't get it. I try to. If somebody did what I do for you, I'd be the happiest person alive.

I don't want to hurt you, Sarah. Never have. Shit happens, though. I wanted to take you away from all of the bad things that bring you down.. but you don't want it. You don't want me. I can't be your friend. This is really an all or nothing situation. You can't tell me that you want to run away with me, that you know that we're more than a passing opportunity, that you want me as a partner for life, and expect me to be ok with being your friend.

I've never loved anyone more than I've loved you. I show it, I prove it, even in anger. Would I do what I did if you didn't matter to me, if I really didn't love you as much as I say I did. You won't even give this a chance to work. You put the brakes on us before we could even start the car.

Thank You

Seven months ago I was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They gave me a year to live, but I’ve been in high spirits as of late. I declined treatments to help ease my pain; I’ve come to grips with the fact that my days are numbered. My days remain the same, for the most part. I roll out of bed, sheets and blanks scattered around me from the nightmares that plague me.

Next week will be my last on Earth. I know this not because I am some all-knowing oracle figure. I know this because it has been arranged. I want to die with dignity. I told my son that I wanted to sell an old record player that I had laying around and he taught me how to make an ad on Craigslist. I didn’t blatantly say that I would like to be murdered. In fact it was never mentioned at all. It would have been removed before I clicked send if it had been. About a week went by before I was graced with a response.  He wanted my record player.

The day that we met was a beautiful one. Clear skies, the shadows sprawled across the park as children played until they felt exhaustion overcome them. It was 2 PM when he strolled into my area. He sat next to me on the bench after realizing I was the only old man sitting with a record player on a bench. Extending his hand, he greeted me by saying it was a pleasure to be in my presence. I returned the sentiment and I showed him his object of desire.

He was very happy with it and when he reached into his pocket to pay me, I objected.

“Keep your money, let’s just talk.” I asked him for his name and he told me it was Richard. I reciprocated by telling him that mine was Thomas. Reaching into my interior pocket of my blue jean jacket, I pulled out of a flask of whiskey. He remarked that I was a little too old to be drinking swill from “one of those,” as he put it. We had a laugh and I took a swig, passed it to him.

“Ah, what the hell, why not?”

He tipped his head back and enjoyed the taste, I could tell he was savoring this. Maybe this meant more to him than it did to me. He handed me the container and I slipped back into my jacket.

“I don’t have much time left, I’m dying. I’ve had a brain tumor since last summer. I’m 85 and suffer enough. Will you help me?”

“Help you? How so?”

“You know how. I know all about you. How you’re struggling to make ends meet. You’re about to lose your home and possibly your family. Let me help you… help me help you.”

“How’d you find all of this out? We’ve never met. You’re old. You suck at technology.”

I chuckled.

“Don’t let my wrinkled face fool you. I was a private detective for 25 years before I was forced out by the powers that be.”

“Why? You must’ve been good at what you did if you stuck around for a quarter of a century.”

“Yeah, too good. Let’s just leave it at that. Walk with me.”

We rose up and took a walk around the park and I told him how I’d like things to go.

“I barely know you. You’re asking a stranger to kill you.”

“And asking a loved one to do it would be better?”

Richard sighed and continued to stand his ground, “You stand there in your denim garb, stupid fucking look on your face, asking me, a guy that you’ve never met in your life, to murder you in cold blood. Keep your fucking record player, I don’t want it.”

Richard let go of the player and it smashed off of the pavement, breaking into multiple pieces.

“Well that was disrespectful.”

Richard turned to walk away. I had to stop him. “Don’t do this! Come back! Please!” He stopped to look back at me. He made his way over to me at a turtle’s pace. The view from behind my glasses improved as he rejoined my presence.

“I’m not going to beg, Richard. There will be another but I want it to be you. It has to be. With one small bend of your finger, your problems are solved. I’m willing, it’s not murder.  God bless Dr. Kevorkian. God bless him, I wish he was still around to help me. I’m sorry that I’m asking you to go through with something like this, it must be tough for you. I get that. It’s just…”

He cut me off mid-sentence.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it. When and where?”

“Next week. As long as I live to attend my grandson’s birthday party, I don’t care when. I don’t want to know. I just want it to happen.”

Richard mulled over the instructions and shook his head in agreement. “So tell me if I’m wrong but you want me to just randomly murder you? Do I get a house key?”

“I’ve already had a copy made.” I dug into my back pocket and grabbed for my wallet, opened it and gave him the spare key.

Days passed and I lived to see my grandson open what would prove to be last gift he’d receive from me. I’ll always remember his smile. I sent Richard an email afterwards telling him that the money had been wired to an account in Switzerland.

I gave my son a hug and told him that I’d be back, I was just going to grab some coffee from the shop on the corner that served the community for the past thirty or so years.

It was a dreary day, one huge cloud shielded the sunlight. As I laid my feet down on the pavement, I heard the distinct sound of a gun cocking.

This was it.

The door swung open and my son, Darrel jumped on Richard’s back. The gun kicked across the street and landed by a blue Oldsmobile parked nearby. There was a scuffle, Darrel was winning. He pinned Thomas to the concrete and reached for a brick nearby.

I didn’t stop him. I sat there and watched as my son pounded his face time and again. Small puddles of blood seeped around the sidewalk. I looked down to see the substance filling the cracks at my feet.

I looked at my son and nodded in approval. I looked down at Richard.

“Thank you.”

Speak

The driver’s side door of the green Ford Explorer slammed shut.  She knew I was furious. As I started the engine and gazed over to her, I began my rant. This was old hat to her; she knew what I was about and what I needed.  Tonight, she didn’t fight back. She listened. It was both peaceful and therapeutic. I felt like now was the only opportunity I’ll ever have to lay it all on the line.

So I did.

I told her of the sleepless nights, the pain that it brought me to know that I was losing her emotionally. She said nothing. She just continued to be fixated on the open road ahead of us. I chuckled to myself; I should’ve known that she couldn’t respond to the truth I was speaking. She never did. She’d just try to change the subject, hoping to throw my thought process off of her trail.

Not this time.

Nothing would come between me and what I had to say tonight. I refuse for that to happen. I continued on, letting her into my mind little by little. I explained why I feel the way I do. No response. My blood began to boil, she knew it pissed me off to blatantly ignore me, but what could I do? I lit a cigarette and the smoke cloud channeled across the interior.

I inhaled deeply.

Rage overcame me and I pounded on the steering wheel.  No reaction from the passenger.  Tears trickled down my face. If this didn’t work nothing would. I expressed what she meant to me, how a good portion of my life was in dedication to her. As we drove down the highway, I was swept away by the beauty of the trees surrounding us. I pulled over and removed the key from the ignition. I turned to her, and admired her in her silence.

So very beautiful.

Her shoulder length golden hair would prove to infect my thoughts for the foreseeable future. It didn’t have to come to this. I tossed my cigarette out of the window that was slightly cracked open. Watching the butt burn away, I knew that I had to say this.

I loved you.

Why did you make me do this? I didn’t want to. Now we both have to suffer the consequences. Actually, that’s not entirely true. You see, I have to live with this. Yours, on the other hand, is over with. There’s nothing I could say or do to make you speak to me. I’m an afterthought, but at least I was your last.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and stepped out of the vehicle. Walking over to her, I pulled the door open and kissed her forehead. I carried her 2 miles inward to the woods but had to venture back to get the cinder blocks that I planned to use to send her to final resting place.

She deserved better.

Desperate times call for desperate measures as they say, and this was one of the times that the cliché rang true.

This Fine City

The water from the faucet drained onto my toothbrush as my day began. I looked at myself in the mirror and could barely stand what I had become. It wasn’t always this way. I rationalize my actions by telling myself that it’s the way of the world that we live in these days. With a bad economy and the climate of the employment landscape proving to be fruitless, I did what had to be done.

Here I go again.

I’ve never taken it all and never would. I only skim a little off of the top, nobody will ever notice.  Five years ago I was a community leader, people looked up to me. In some sense they still do, but I do not feel as high on myself as I once did. It could be because I run a charity scheme that is meant to help widows of victims of the September 11^th attacks.

Fuck.

I’ve done this for many years, but to actually verbalize it, hear myself say it, admit it to myself, really struck a chord deep within me.  I never rip them off completely, they never walk away empty handed.

My phone gyrated on the sink where I left it. It was a text message from my assistant, Allison. It was a reminder that I had a speaking arrangement at 2 PM. I can’t even recall how I got to be this way. It’s all a blur. This was never my intention, I would much rather be a regular Joe, cooking at a diner somewhere instead of being expected to be responsible one, the leader of my people.

Life never goes the way that you plan it to. The most successful people in the world have done unspeakable acts to get to where they are now, me included. It’s a fair trade. You give up your morality and compassion to be somebody of importance. The ends justify the means to me.

I run the water and wash my face before stepping out of the bathroom, grabbing my phone in the process.  As I made my way through my lavish living quarters, I made my way to the refrigerator and took a sip of orange juice out of the container before placing it back inside.

People would literally kill to be in my position. Although I may be morally bankrupt, I have the final say as to what in your life is acceptable. As long as you’re under my rule, you will accept my decisions with a smile.

I stepped outside and took in the day. Not a cloud in the sky, despite the weather experts calling for scattered thunderstorms. There was a slight breeze that pressed against my face. This place is mine, and I have done what is necessary to claim it. My finger squeezed the remote to unlock the doors of my Prius.

Yes, a Prius. I hated being seen in the fucking thing, but it was imperative to keep up appearances. I pulled out of my driveway and was on my way to my obligation. There was no other route to where I was expected than to head through the ghetto.        

Seeing the poverty stricken used to affect me deeply, but I’ve since gotten over it. Some would say that I’ve forgotten my roots, I look at it as I have made it out of this situation and it’s not my responsibility to help you get out of yours. It’s a fair system. Work hard and things will work out for you. I’m living proof.

At a red light I peered over to see an elderly woman pushing a grocery cart down the sidewalk. I wondered what it would be like to be her, to have lived her life. This was supposed to be golden years of her life, yet she was as poor as poor can be. Maybe more than that. The thought crossed my mind to give her a 50 out of my wallet, but the light changed to green.

Tough luck. 

I pressed on the gas and was minutes away from my destination. I turned the radio on and played with the tuning dial. Horse shit, per usual.

I pulled into the parking lot and stepped out of the vehicle. From afar I could see a man being restrained by a handful of guards. I ventured over to the area and seen what the commotion was about. Upon seeing my face, the man fought harder to break away. He shouted that I’m the reason why the we’re in such a shit storm.

A guard came to me and whispered that this man had every intention of killing me on this day and that they had confiscated the weapon. It was a Colt .45.

Jesus, this guy wanted me dead, twice.

I applauded his great work and told him I must go, people were waiting for me. He nodded his head and I turned my back to him while stepping towards the door. I swung the glass double doors open and was greeted by a group of people who had heard the news. Hugs and support were being given. I accepted, but eventually shoed them away.

I glanced at my phone to see that the time was 1:53 PM. They knew it was time for business. I thanked them and said I’d see them in the crowd.

Here I was, alone again to face this inevitable experience on my lonesome. Standing behind a curtain, I waited to be announced. The voice told the people that I was moments away from stepping out. I pushed through the veil and stood at the podium that was set up for me.

“As mayor of this fine city…”

Untitled

Here I sit. Pen in my hand, blank page lying in front of me. This feeling has overcome me, a euphoric rush that I can’t exactly describe. It hits me like a wave as I peer around the room that would prove to be the last I’ll ever know. The smooth mahogany desk has been home to many of my works. I do not believe in the use of electronic devices when it comes to my work. Everything I have ever written has been done so with the stroke of a hand. Some friends and colleagues have called me crazy for this practice, but I’ve always felt that it meant more coming directly from the writer’s hand.  The curtains allowed for a special shade of sunlight to be let into the room.

I sat back and took it all in, the simple beauty of it all. I’ve been racking my brain for over two hours, struggling to find the words to couple with this sheet of paper but to no avail. I don’t think people really understand the finality of death. I am not one of those people. A great life was not something I’ve lead, but an interesting one was for sure something I could stake claim to. I placed my hands on my head and leaned my head forward onto the desk in a drunken stupor, almost cursing myself for not being capable of doing this the right way.

There is just too much to say, too many people to acknowledge. Could you imagine being left out of a suicide note? That would probably be more damaging for the loved one that the act itself. Regardless, this wasn’t the issue. A writer’s suicide note would have to be like no other. You’d be expected to speak on the evils of life and death both. It’s just too much to ask for at this point in time.

To express my love to you, the one I’ve never met. The ones that I have met, the people that make my life worth living are the same that made it worth ending. You do not deserve what I bring into your life. Most of the people that love me actually love a fabricated version of me. One that sincerely hopes all is well, but doesn’t want it to be, without me around. Is it wrong to take what you’ve asked for? To go to extreme lengths to prove a point? To take my life just to prove that I mattered, even if I’m not around to see it?

Yes.

This is who I am, this is what I do. All I’ve ever wanted was to be respected by all and loved by you. What I have given has proven to fall on blind eyes and deaf ears. There is nothing else I can do. I made a promise to never give up on you, and so it shall be. To have given up on myself before I have thought of letting go of you.

What does this say?

I’m not entirely sure. In death I’ll be cemented as your personal legend, the one who never expected too much, the one who was always there in your time of need, the one who believed in you when nobody else would.

In life, I was the one you took for granted. I could never bring myself to willingly remove myself from your life, which would be far too hurtful for us both. Instead of taking myself out of our equation, I will remove myself from the grand scheme instead.

I reach into the drawer and pull out my half empty bottle of Jameson and pour myself a shot in the glass that sat mere inches from the letter.  I tilted my head back and thoroughly enjoyed the golden substance swishing around, burning my cheeks as I held it in. I can only imagine what this shit does to my liver.

I rose out of the chair and walked to the kitchen once swallowing the whiskey. Progress was made. I was happy with the outcome of this letter. I grabbed a chair that was stationed around the kitchen table and dragged it across the floor into my study. Removing the belt from my blue jeans, I tied it to the pull up bar that spent its days in the closet. The previous owner of the home must have been into exercise and staying in shape. Unfortunately, the current occupant was a mad writer.

Opening the closet door, I realized that this was not the ideal place for this to happen. I gazed up and seen the ceiling fan. Perhaps this would do.

I climbed onto the chair and wrapped the belt around the main piece of the furniture and gave it a tight pull to ensure its security. Once I knew that it would in fact hold me, I placed the belt around my throat and kicked the chair away. I flailed for half a minute. It was over. The note remained in my hand, I clenched it with every ounce of my being.

I remember two things.

The first being that the very last thing that I seen with my very own eyes was the note. As I glanced down for one final look, a smile came over me. I did the right thing. The page was empty. And my last thought was of you.