Mike sat in his living room, staring at the darkness before him. He took out the rope from his drawer. Today's the day, he thought to himself, today I'm gonna do it, no more pain, no more suffering.
Slowly tying the rope he looped the rope around the ceiling fan. He stood on his chair. "I'm gonna do it," he mumbled, "no more." Looping the rope around his neck, he kicked away the chair.
Choking, gasping for air, he pulled on the rope, trying to free himself. He came crashing down, snapping the blades of the fan. He couldn't do it, and he never will be able to. He coughed, taking in huge gasps of air, hoping to catch his breath.
There's no way he could ever do it, there's no way he would ever do it.
He went out, hoping for something that would make him want to kill himself so badly that he would actually do it. As he walked he glanced at the bar. ""No". he told himself, "you promised yourself, you promised her." He started to walk away.
Before he knew it he was already ordering a drink, one with as much alcohol as possible in it. He drank it all in one gulp, hoping to drown all his sorrows in this one stupid drink.
Soon he was getting up, ready to go home and prepare for tomorrows hell of a headache. He swayed from left to right as he stumbled from one table to another, taking huge strides across the room, unknowingly spilling someones drink. Just as Mike reached the door, a fist collided with his face from the back, nearly knocking him out. Getting up, Mike grabbed the nearest object to him, dragging the attacker onto him. Everything else was just a blur after that, first a barrage of limbs connected with his body, next he was slamming something onto his opponent, splashing some iron-tasting liquid all over him, after that he was jabbing and smashing with whatever was in his hand. When Mike finally came to his senses, he felt eyes piercing his soul, then he looked down at the bloody mangled mess. "Oh god..." He ran, and ran, and ran.
When he reached home and thought about it, he smiled. "Hey, that was... fun."
