The Passion of Death (Editing)

Who Needs Reasons?

"This is the fourth cup you have" interrupts a gravelly voice as I pour the free and bitter coffee into the thin paper cup.
I look up, still pouring it,
"Well, I have the false belief that if I drink enough it'll give meaning to living."
The wimpy lad then smiles as if charmed by my honesty, "I am the same way with cigarettes."
"Cheers to that" I say stirring the mixture of caffeine, then I ask, "how is that working for you?"
"Same as you, I suppose."
"You tried snuffing it then?"
"The tobacco?"
I laugh a little, "no. Have you tried killing yourself? Is that why you're here?"
I see his icy blue eyes for the first time then as his thin eyebrows tense. I suspect he's not one to speak openly of his emotions.
"No, why?"
I shrug, "just a wild guess."
He glances across the room as if looking for someone, probably a way to escape me, which would not be unusual.

"Why are you here?" He suddenly asks.
"Isn't it evident?"
He glares confounded, then I respond "I'm just visiting."

One of the nurses calls out my name so I head towards her leaving behind my coffee and him.
"Pleased to meet you, Ian."

When I at last leave the hospital after a week of talking with certified imbeciles, I see him again standing by the road, I continue my way but he begins to walk beside me as if we were together.

"How'd you know my name?" He lets out under his breath as he tries to catch up. He walks looking down with hands buried in his pockets and though he is tall, he resembles a sad child.
"I've seen you before, somewhere." I just couldn't recall where.
"So, what's the real reason you've got a shrink?" He asks.
"Why have you?"
"I don't"
I scoff "Right. You were just visiting innit?"

We've reached the end of the pavement now, there's a couple cars going by but I don't stop, I hope to be hit by one. I'm not, only yelled at by their drivers.

Once again he catches up, I don't understand what he's trying to achieve.
"You tried to kill yourself?"
"I obliterated myself, yeah. But it only lasted a couple minutes. You see, they pump your stomach. Awfully grotty." I admit.
"Why'd you do it?"
I stop then to face him, he looks so vulnerable,
"a despondent youth and the peril of an adulthood of regret. To become old and think 'why didn't I do it when It still made sense?'" I sigh, "actually I don't know, I haven't got a real reason. Who needs reasons? No reason to live, no reason to die, might as well get it done with."

He says nothing in response, he doesn't need to, it is all in his eyes. I can read them easily because I know the look in them all to well. But I also know he will not admit it, that's how men are, they think it makes one fragile. Ridiculous.

"I guess I have a serotonin deficit" I state breaking the odd silence. His lips form a sad excuse for a smile, he must lead a boring life if he finds me amusing. I continue my path.

"Where are you headed to?"
"I don't know, do you wanna come?"