The Suicide Note: A Novel
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The inspiration for this novel came from a poem by Amiri Baraka called ‘Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note’. In the title alone you can tell that though the interest in suicide is there, the rush of committing such an act is not. After all, there’s still twenty volumes to write, or in this case, a novel.
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Prologue
I don’t know when I first considered it. It would be impossible to come up with an exact date, but I’ll try my best. It’s not that I never have a day where I am happy, but that they come around less and less. I have been unhappy with myself and with my life, and now I can only see one solution to my issues. I am certain that the thoughts started sometime my sophomore year in high school. Cruel high school. Had I known that I wouldn’t get a college degree, I wouldn’t have gone this far. I am your average student who maintains a solid C grade. I have only taken the general classes that all the mindless cattle take. I also get picked on about ten times a day on average. Of course, that is just at school.
My family is also a very average family for where we live. My sister died in a motorcycle accident last year with her 24 year-old boyfriend. Did I forget to mention that she was 16 at the time? Anyways he survived, and I am pretty sure he was a stoner. Not that that last bit really matters. My father used to be a sergeant in the Navy SEALS, and I get a lecture from him once a month. My mother is the average alcoholic, gambler who is usually out with her other rich, female friends. The whole being rich concept is very ordinary around here. I get yelled at around 8 times a week at home. I bet you wish I was done, but we are close.
I also work at a grocery store about 10 miles away from my home. To get there, I take my average 1990 Chevy Buick. My parents get a new car every other year, not that I’m bitter about it. At work, the other employee’s glare at me and I am always handed down the crappy jobs nobody else will do. My life is completely average, or so a therapist once told me, a therapist my mother insisted I see after I became weirder than she could handle.
It is all these things, and a few others that I will explain in more depth, that got me thinking of buying a gun. Since I was too young to buy one myself, I paid some creep 500 dollars to buy one. One, he got me a rifle, two, I know it cost less than 500 dollars! Anyway, I do not plan on going on some pointless shooting rage against everyone who was cruel to me. For one thing, I am smart. Getting revenge on everyone who wronged you is very Kill Bill, but highly unlikely of working outside the movies. The Columbine shooters planned to kill 600 students, and they couldn’t even make it to 20. Plus, I would never have enough bullets to rid the world of those ‘bullies’, even just my own.
Come to think of it, my life is not very average at all. The average would make it through high school unscathed or barely so. I just can not finish the rest because I just don’t see the point. Maybe after this note reaches American eyes and minds, they will begin to see the monsters they have bore and those that exist as I do. Maybe they will do a movie of my life, because I can give those deep, dark details. Before that can happen, I have to go through my list of reasons that brought me to this path. Then after I finish this note, I can call Julie and get that over with. Then last but certainly not least, I need to load the gun and pull the trigger. I will put two in just to be certain. In case you haven’t guessed it, I plan to kill myself.
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And that's just the prologue. Let me know if you want to read more.
