Cough Syrup

Chapter 1: Story Time

Some people find it so easy to say suicide is never the answer. To me, suicide is the same as any other death, except you get to decide for yourself how it happens and when it happens.

I walked over to the kitchen cabinet in my lonely apartment, and reached for the three bottles of cough syrup I had far in the back. The bottles were old, made of thick clear glass, and covered in dust.

I haven't been sick in ages,

I thought to myself.

I dusted them off with my slightly shaky hands, and then brushed the soot onto my jeans before picking all three of them back up in my left hand. It's not that I was scared, It's that I was excited. Excited that I could finally escape it all. Finally end it all. Taking casual steps over to the small chrome fridge, I reached into the far back for my bottle of Spirytus I had been saving for a special event. This was special enough; after all, it was my last day as Eden Ayre.

96% alcohol. This should make it fun.

I didn't bother to get any cups, If I was going out I wouldn't need them anyway. Cups are for people who care enough not to drink from the bottle, I don't even care enough to keep living. I sat down at my small white desk, overlooking my window view of the city below me. Setting the bottles down on either side of my laptop, I sighed, preparing myself.

"Here goes nothing."

My voice broke the dead silence of the dull room, like the rumble of thunder when it breaks through the steady tumble of the rain, intrusive to the perpetuity of everything but still belonging. My hands found their way to the laptop's metallic keyboard and hesitated for seconds before finally typing.

"It all starts with the day I was born. "