I came home and looked at my calendar. Simple enough. My heart beat fast because I had been waiting for this day, the day circled in big red sharpie with five arrows pointing at it from all directions. I threw my bag in my closet and went upstairs looking for a stool. I had been hiding some... specific things behind the plaster at the back of my top shelf. I locate our green IKEA stool and climb up and retrieve the wire-cantered rope I had been saving up for weeks to buy. I think back to when I decided on a day. My long sleeve shirt catches on a coat-hanger and is momentarily stuck. I free myself and look at the lines on my wrist. One, two... seven... ten... More than I have time to count right now. I pull the large screw-hook out of the crevice and slide it under my arm. I have been waiting for this moment since the lines started appearing... I find my favourite tree in the back garden; the sunset is always breathtaking from this vantage point at the top of a hill where our house sits. I climb up on the stool, and do my best to screw the hook into the tree and then tie the rope into a slip knot at one end...
I smile at myself and how I have beat depression, and have lived to own my house as well as build my own a rope swing. I then go inside to get my favorite scarf and a cup of tea and sit in my swing just as the sunset starts.
YOU ARE READING
Fluffy Bunnies
ContoFluffy Bunnies! This book is not about fluffy bunnies, but suicide. Every tiny, insignificant about that terrible and irreversible word. I'm going to let you inside the mind of someone who is/has/will commit suicide. This is a bunch of short stories...
