VI
The days passed quite quickly for the suicidal entity as he engaged in his usual stupor. After the meetings with the philosopher he felt a need to address his freedom. No longer capable of functioning effectively in the surroundings he occupied, he felt tired of his anguish and decided his choices were limited. The overdraft on his bank account had long ago dwindled away, leaving no money for him to take off into a distant land. Thoughts of his family and friends filled his mind and a great shame overcame him. He felt he had let himself fade into the background of their lives and they played a minor role in his activities. Pervasive gloominess now persuaded him to take his final bow.
Walking along the street to his rented flat, he sensed every uneasy glance piercing right through him. Somehow it didn't make him uneasy any more, he half smiled towards any staring eyes. His trust in human nature rekindled as he got served a coffee, exchanging pleasantries with a young waitress. It would be hard to guess from appearance that this was a man solemnly acknowledging the worthlessness of his existence. He made phone calls to a few family members, letting them know he'd like to visit them someday when he's got the time. A few old friends got visited in a short space of time, where they were surprised at the rejuvenated conversationalist in front of them. A long drawn-out letter was composed by the suicidal entity detailing his perspective and reasons, while condoling with anyone sad at his choice. Then he ripped it up into small pieces and threw it away. The fateful day had arrived.
In his flat, the suicidal entity started the procession. He opened a scarce cupboard and produced a full whiskey bottle. After a few swigs he delved into his special drawer, where numerous pouches and packets were strewn. He concocted a handsome cocktail of various prescribed and non-prescribed drugs. Many pills and a lot of powder had been ingested by the time he felt a rush from the amphetamine. He stared intensely at the few remaining pills on the work surface. His mouth dry, he sensed his internal organs being overworked.
Bracing himself, he swallowed the remaining handful of paracetamol. He looked at the pills. Suddenly he put them down. With a forced movement, he opened another drawer. He pulled out the sharpest knife he could find. Steadying his hands, he proceeded to slice the pills into smaller pieces. Whole pills were too much for his throat to swallow right now. In a short space of time the pills were settled in his stomach aided by whiskey With his heart beating rapidly, he desperately wondered how long his demise would take. Minutes flowed by and his agitation increased. He urged unconsciousness to take over. No signs of death could be felt, so he braved himself for one extra fatal action. Taking no more chances of survival, he held the sharp knife firmly and brought it into contact with his windpipe. - Blade to throat and paracetamol to stomach was his final decisive action.
It took a week for the suicidal entity to die. Fate hindered an immediate death. The deep cut to his throat ensured he lost a lot of blood and his consciousness. He managed to miss all vital nerves and arteries before slumping onto the bloody floor. A rare visit from his landlord - though missed phone calls would have told him when he was due - coincided with the knife entering the suicidal entity’s throat within minutes. After major surgery, his condition stabilised before the overdose took its toll on his body. He never regained full consciousness.