Nicotine

And As The Sun Rises A Man Has Fallen

The cigarette is carefully placed between his lips. It tastes like paper and suicide. He breathes in the October air through his nose and lets it rest in his lungs for a while. It smells cold. it's the only way to describe it. It's this sharp, cold feeling flowing through his nose and down his throat. A stinging feeling, as if he's breathing in smashed glass. His mouth tastes like ash, but he is used to the taste by now. The green army jacket belongs to Taylor. After he left their shared studio apartment, he stole the jacket, knowing that he used it so much more then Taylor ever did. The fight was expected, he just wasn't expecting a drunken partner throwing all their wine glasses after him on the way out. He understood the situation in some way though. Anyone would react strongly if they found out their boyfriend writes suicide notes when he has nothing better to do.

He is tired. No, he's exhausted. It's as if the entire universe is trying to kill him, yet it doesn't allow him to end himself. He's tried everything. Overdose, drowning, hell, he even cut his wrists. He still remember the vivid colour pumping out of his veins like a waterfall made out of crimson. He still remember the smell. It smelled like death. It tasted like copper. It was warm and metallic. It felt strangely good.

The hand holding the cigarette is shaking. His fingers are frozen and his head is hurting. In the distance, the motorway is crowded by only few cars driving to whatever destination they're going. Or perhaps someone is just driving to find peace. To get their mind off things. Perhaps there is a driver with cut wrists and a nicotine addiction who is driving past him right now. Who are driving to the beach to watch the sun come up from the horizon. With a cigarette between their lips and a book full of suicide notes in their jacket. Who knows? maybe he isn't as alone as he believes.

What to do next, he still doesn't know. He can drown now and simply get it over with. He can smoke a pack of camels and hope that they'll end him one day. He can write another note, telling his father that he hates baseball but he watched the games  because he enjoyed them. although his father never did anything he wanted to do with him. He can write another note and tell his mother that his first kiss wasn't Emily from third grade, but Jonathan from seventh. And then he later kissed Haley during the eight grade prom because he was still confused what direction he was going. He can write another note and tell Taylor that he was a lousy boyfriend and that once he ends himself, Taylor should find someone new. Because someone like Taylor deserves unconditional love, and not just someone who is good in bed.

But the universe has never allowed him to give up just yet, so perhaps he is doomed to walk this world until his bones turns to dust and his mind becomes forgetful and leaves important life lessons behind, until he has nothing left to live with. Perhaps he is doomed to live forever. That this is a curse because he wants to end his existence. That suicide is such a grave sin that he has to pay for it by living. Who knows? he doesn't. He doesn't hold all the answers to the universe. But he knows that if he did, if he knew absolutely everything, he'd figured out a way to end himself by now. But he doesn't know everything. All he knows is that there is a book next to him explaining every reason he has to log off life. To end his subscription to his own being. And his last cigarette, who only holds one drag left.

He inhales sharply. Deeply. The smoke slip into his mouth, floats down his throat and enters his lungs. And there it stays. This ashy, warm breath that ruins his body in any way it can. He holds it in for as long as he can. He stays breathless on the tribune near the sea and listen to the waves hitting the sand. Far, far away, beyond the horizon, a yellow light begins to appear. It seems to glow at the bottom of the sea and chase the night away. He smiles to himself before he finally let the breath escape his lungs and watches in awe as the smoke soars through the air in front of his eyes and dances in graceful movements as it slowly but surely disappears into the autumn air.

The remaining part of the cigarette is stumped and halfway buried into the sand. The book is no longer sitting next to him on the wooden tribune, but in his hand. On the very first page he writes his mothers name and number, his fathers name and number and his lovers name and number. The ink is running towards the page in graceful yet sharp movements. Fast yet beautiful. The book is closed and he stands up. The sun is halfway up from the waves now. Telling the world to wake up. To face the day and face all their problems. All but one man who is moving closer and closer to the ocean. As he walks he can spot little shells all over the place. Different colours and so beautiful. He feels privileged to see them at this time of the day. Just before the worlds awoken completely. He stops right in front of the water. He gently peels off  the oversized army jacket and folds it carefully. He lays it down next to him. He makes sure that it's far enough away from the water so it won't get soaked or ruined, or carried away by the waves. He takes off the grey sweater he got as a present from his mother two years ago and the shoes from his father he got three years ago. He carefully folds the sweater and places it on top of the army jacket and the brown shoes on top of it. And on the very top of the small pile of clothing he puts the black leather bound book he bought for himself four years ago, when he decided to write his very first suicide note.

And as the sun rises completely to awake the world so they can face a tragedy, we know that there is one man who will never rise again.