Suicide Club

Things to Say After the Apocalypse

Things to Say after the Apocalypse

How could we talk about suicide so easily? Most people would get eerily quiet and sip their drinks in awkward silence at the mere mention of suicide or murder yet there we were, planning things for people we didn't even know. I was at least. Who knows what Devon was thinking about that night.

But the thought kept me up at night. Would I really kill people just to shut them up? To make the world a better place? Would I really do that because that's exactly what Hitler did in World War II.

"Do you think I'm turning into Hitler?" I asked Ed.

He gave me a good look like when you inspect meat at the market. "You don't have any facial hair, you know, apart from your eyebrows. I don't think so."

"Come on."

He slung his bass on his back. "I don't think I'm the one to tell you that but if you're feeling an intense dislike of Jews then yes, and if you come to practice tomorrow with a red armband then definitely. Why do you ask?"

"I was with Devon, he said I sounded like a Nazi," I kicked the snow out of my way, "I know it shouldn't matter, he was high anyway."

"You're hanging out with that ass again?" Ed said lighting a cigarette. He offered me one.

"Not right now," I told him.

"You know that kid's gonna die of some freak accident before he turns thirty. A plane crashes into his house like in Donnie Darko or he'll go insane and kill everyone and then himself."

I told him he's probably going to outlive the earth after its apocalypse and he'll just go, "fuck." Ed just laughed like I'd said something funny.

We'd walked for a while longer until we got to a homeless guy. Ed leaned in to give him money but I stopped him.

"Devon?"

He looked up from under his hat. "Oh hey Chris."

"What are you doing here?" Ed asked with a huge grin. I'm sure he liked seeing Devon like this.

"I'm a beggar now," He'd explained to Ed, "And I get more money out of it than you do with your shitty band."

"It's not shitty," Ed gripped his bass tightly.

Devon started singing one of our songs. "I miss you," He sang. "You know there's nothing shittier than a guy in a seven inch Mohawk singing about how much he misses his girlfriend. You're a bunch of posers."

"That was just one song!" Ed protested. "The rest are genuine punk. Maybe you're the poser."

"I'm not a punk rocker," Devon countered then he looked at me. He gave me a look that said, "Why are you still with them?"

"I need the money," I told him.

Devon just nodded and then continued shouting at people to hit him with quarters.

"See what I told you?" Ed said as he'd stalked off. "The guy's fucked up in the head."

We made our way back to the house in silence. Ed was still smoldering about the dispute and I was trying to figure out when exactly everyone had gotten so fucked up.

"Hey, what would you do if I committed suicide?" Ed asked once we'd gotten inside.

"You'd be a poser," I joked.

He smiled sadly. "I guess I would be," He told me disappearing into his room.

The next day Ed didn't wake up. It turned out that he'd been suicidal all along. I didn't know. I don't think anyone knew about Ed.

Finding Ed's body in the bathtub was enough to put me off my breakfast. The only thing I could do was just stare at him until I found the strength in me to call Devon and Harley.

"Ed's dead," I stated. I didn't even know who'd answered the phone yet.

"What?" It was Harley.

"It's Ed," I repeated, "He's dead, he...uh committed suicide."

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to come over?"

"Yeah," I told her while still staring at Ed. Why he filled the tub before slitting his wrists, I have no idea. All I knew was that I had to go and unplug the tub.

"Are you going to call the cops?"

"I don't think so," I paused, "Could you guys help me bury him?"

Harley didn't answer at first. She sighed heavily. "Sure."

"Thanks," I told her hanging up.

I kneeled by the tub expecting a wave of sadness to come over me like a tsunami over Japan but nothing came. The only thing I could think about was how I had to stick my hands in the bloody water to take Ed out. I didn't want to do that.

Why didn't he do it on the couch? I could've just flipped the cushions then but no. Ed has to make this that much harder for everyone.

I took a seat on the toilet to try and figure out how exactly I was going to take Ed out of the bathtub when I sat on a piece of paper. I flicked it off the seat and when it landed I noticed writing on it.

It was his suicide note.

Chris, you're probably going to find this first and me. So yea I died in a bathtub just to make your life that much harder but now you could write a song about it. It could go something like:

My friends are dead

I pull them out of bathtubs

Hahaha

I bet you suck shit

I'll pull you outta my ass

Hahaha

But before you call the cops, don't. I want you to bury me. Burn me if you're too sissy for that. The last thing I need is my mom coming here to put me in a suit that makes me look living in a church filled with tons of white-black people sobbing over how sad my mom is. So bury me, burn me, let me rot what do I care?

I guess this is goodbye forever now...

P.S. you can keep my bass if you want.

I pictured Ed thrashing around the bathtub trying to write this. Water flying everywhere. The note getting wet. Him losing consciousness just as he'd realized how stupid this all was...

And I'm still not feeling anything.

I'm guessing that death is like black coffee, it either works for you or it doesn't. There's no in between really. And if you say you're an in between then you don't know what death is.