2-Faced

My Self-Made Execution

My name is Moon Oni, and I feel...nothing. This emptiness has been my companion for longer than I can remember. I'm a terrible person, hurting the very people I claim to adore. I lie to people straight to their faces, fully aware that I'm manipulating them to get what I want. I exploit their trust and kindness for my own benefit without a second thought. I've become so accustomed to being in the wrong that I've grown completely indifferent to it. My desires come first, and I don't care who gets hurt in the process. Sometimes I think the world would be better off without someone like me and maybe I'm right. That's why I've decided to end it all, to stop the harm I cause. I genuinely don't know what's wrong with me; I can't seem to stop. 

My mother always loved the Moon, which is why she named me after it—because she loved me. I've been infatuated with the Moon for as long as I can remember, often dreaming of floating freely into space, touching its surface, feeling its rocks between my fingers. The Moon's ethereal beauty captivated me, and when I was younger, I aspired to become an astronaut, to one day stand on its silvery surface. Such a naive dreamer I was. Now, at 26, I'm just a tattoo artist on the strip in Las Vegas. I love art, but I hate how it makes me feel. Nothing I create is ever good enough. No matter what anyone says, I can't see past the reflection in the mirror or the feelings that consume me. The Moon remains my only hope, a constant reminder of dreams that faded and the emptiness that took their place.

 I've been trying to find reasons to stay alive, but each time I count them, they grow fewer. I have no one and nothing to hold onto. My family is distant, and I have no friends. Sex and drugs are my only solace, distracting me from the voices in my head telling me to shoot my own brains out; I seek satisfaction through pleasure, with cocaine as my constant companion. I've chosen solitude for my sanity, but it's a cold, empty comfort.

A honk from the car behind jolted me from my trance; I realized the traffic light was green. Startled, I pressed the gas and continued driving, only for the car behind to speed past me, the driver casting a dirty look my way. What an impatient asshole. I could picture myself following the bastard home, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest cavity as he screams in agony, savoring the sight of his worthless life draining from his eyes while blood drips down my merciless face, almost tasting it. But I keep my composure, because in reality, there's nothing I can do but let people push me around like always.

Sometimes I wish I lived in a world without laws or rules, free to do whatever I wanted. But soon, I won't have to endure this pain anymore—I have it all planned out. My birthday, May 10th, is when I'm ending it all. It's currently May 9th, so it's tomorrow. I've prepared a noose, and I'll be hanging myself as soon as the clock strikes midnight.

I finally got home after a long day of work. My back aches from being hunched over, tattooing my last client's calf. I flop down on my bed and pull out my phone to check for notifications. Five messages from Satsui and some spam. I groan in annoyance. Doesn't this girl get the message by now? I've already told her I don't really use social media like that.

Messages from Satsui:

6:30am: "Good Morning!! I know you're probably already at work by now, but I just wanted you to know that I thank God every day that you're alive. I couldn't imagine my world without you, Moonie <3"

12:15pm: "Good evening, hopefully work isn't too stressful for you. Tattooing seems fun, and you're always so amazing at it! Whenever I get a tattoo of my own, I want you to do it! I'll pay you, of course; you deserve it!"

2:45pm: "Sorry if I'm doing too much. I know I can be bothersome, you just worry me sometimes.."

6:12pm: "I hope you're not mad at me. If so, I truly apologize."

8:00pm: "Please answer. I won't stop until you answer! You're probably just busy, I'm sure, but how am I supposed to know if you're alive if you don't answer, Moon.."

Ever since I drunkenly confessed my suicidal thoughts to Satsui on the phone that night, she's been even more annoying than before. She constantly bombards me with motivational bullshit that sounds so clichéd and dumb. She texts me every second of the day—shouldn't she be focusing on her books and school? Why does it feel like her world revolves around me all the damn time? I'm sure she has better things to do.

Since this is my last night, I suppose I should at least respond. I type a simple "I'm fine" and put my phone down, only to hear the notification bell ring within seconds. Ignoring it, I head to the bathroom to take a shower.

I take off my work shirt, revealing my fully tattooed body. I've tried to cover my disgusting physique with beautiful art, permanently embedded in me until the day I'm cremated—I can't afford a coffin so being in an eren will have to suffice. The one tattoo I'll be missing the most is the one centered in the middle of my chest, depicting a hypnotized eye with a cross hanging beneath it. It's my most striking piece, always drawing attention whenever I reveal it. I'm not one to seek attention, but I guess that's the price you pay when you've tattooed every inch of your body. I used to want to cover more of my face with more tattoos, too, to mask the parts I dislike. Unfortunately, it seems those plans are slipping away.

I step into the shower, letting the water run through my hair and over my face, letting the droplets slightly invade my eyesight. I begin to dissociate, knowing this is the last time I'll be taking a shower, the last time I'll admire my tattoos, or let alone get another one. The last one I got was on my face, the left side of my cheek. I love art and everything about it, but it's so unappreciated in this world, and it's hard to become someone important and be praised because of it. All this hard work feels like it's amounted to nothing...Maybe I really should have tried to become a doctor like my father wanted.

After my shower, time slipped away, and now it's already 11:50. My entire body feels numb, and I haven't eaten. I can't fathom how people on death row can have any appetite when they're about to die the next day. I get up from my bed, where I've been lying for hours, and prepare for what feels like my own execution. I set up a chair and securely tie the noose to my ceiling fan, hoping it won't break or loosen. The last thing I want is to survive with a crushed throat. I want this to go as smoothly as possible. I sit on the edge of my bed, watching the rope sway slightly from the air conditioning from the vent nearby. As I stare at my fate all that I think is that...

this will all be over soon.