‘how would you kill yourself?’ (the most unlikely question from the daisy of an older sister.)
‘i’d walk into the sea, maybe like what virginia woolf did with stones in her jacket pockers. i want to be engulfed by the water alone. a drama i watched recently involved drowning, and a character, he talked about how hard the body fights to hold yourself back from opening yourself underwater. apparently the instinct, the will to live is natural. it’s called voluntary apnea, and it’s so strong that you pass out before the water even gets a chance to pour itself into your lungs.’ i cock my head, ‘what about you?’
i never expected a smile that wide from her. ‘stark white room, stark white tiles, stark white bathtub. a razor, and i want to stain the whole room red. i want to watch the life leave me.’
and so that night i painted.
