“Do you know why he committed suicide?” He asked, chewing on gum like any bored young man would do.
I thought for a moment, and frowned. “Wasn’t it because of his depression?”
He remained silent for a few minutes, and then shook his head.
“Why then?” I heard myself asking, my curiosity piqued by his delayed response. “Isn’t that what some people do; when they sink too deep into the depths, and everything hems in from all sides until they have nowhere to walk on but the roads of Death?”
Tom spat his gum out onto the sidewalk. “He killed himself, that poor bastard, because he couldn’t bear to live day after day, drowning in the dregs of his colourless life.”
“He despised – no, he was terrified of – the thought; of living past his youth, into the curse of old age, and degenerating slowly – crumbling and folding into frailty and sickness, till he passed on.”
He lit a cigarette which I hadn’t noticed before, and continued. “He figured that if he took his life when he was still able and young, he wouldn’t have that happening to him. Did you know how much he hated that? He kept telling me: Tom , help me, I can’t take this shit life anymore. I tried to shake him out, I really did. But that fucking idiot was completely out of his mind – he just sat there day by day mumbling to himself, and then he took his own life yesterday. Hanged himself by the oak tree, just near the dorm. Fucking hell, he could have chosen a better place.”
He took a long drag on his cigarette, breathing out sickly nicotine fumes, and shrugged helplessly, looking forlorn. “He was going into his engineering undergraduate studies too! Top of the class, he was. Well, not anymore – he’s in the ground now, not knowing we’re having this conversation, and not knowing that he’s become a fucking prick.” Tom laughed, its hollowness ringing in my ears. “His life wasn’t colourless. His family’s rich. Nice bird hangin’ on his arm too. Sky high grades. Great life waiting for him after university. I don’t get it. Why do all these silly, philosphical fuckwits kill themselves, and why do the girls throw themselves onto them idiots?”
Tom stubbed out the cigarette, and the ashes flew onto his bare, heavily- veined arm. “Even the cig’s trying to piss me off today! Damn it, the whole lot of you are trying to drive me insane!” He swore, flinging the burnt cigarette onto the grass. I watched him walk off, and sighed.
Tom needed time alone, and now was not the time.
(I found this while clearing out my inbox…totally forgot this was still lying around! I was supposed to flesh this out but I wasn’t able to. Oh well.)
© Zelda Reville