Headfirst for Halos

I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling,
as the fragments of my skull begin to fall,
Fall on your tongue like pixie dust just think happy thoughts…

A cadence I’ve been chanting for quite some time now. For exactly; three weeks, two days, eleven hours, seven minutes and counting.

I've always excelled the most in mathematics.

The orange surrounding her black iris reflects the light from the lamppost, making it seem somewhat shiny.

The transition from light to dark was quick since I arrived here at 4:01 and it’s now forty-three minutes past five.

The cigarette resting between my fingers loosely hangs, threatening to drop ash onto my worn out converse. I pull it back up to my lips, inhaling deeply then releasing the smoke from my lungs in long wisps. It was relaxing, I didn’t have to constantly worry about anything, just the need to breathe in, and breathe out.

She stares up at me, the light from the lamppost illuminating her black fur. The cats about two metres away from me, watching, while I lean against the railing of the deserted bridge.

She rubs her ears with her paws then falls onto her back, waiting for me to play with her.

"No." I say, then flick the remainder of the cigarette on to the road. The cat glanced from the cigarette butt then back to me. A look that could almost be described as sadness plastered across her face.

I spin around and place my hands firmly on the railing, then push down hard enough so that my feet barely meet the ground.

I fall back down causing my feet to stomp on to the concrete. The only sound interrupting the eerie silence that lays heavily in the air.

"Tonight," I say as I spin on my heel towards the cat, "Is a great night for suicide." She meows softly, almost as if she could understand, but the thought alone was crazy. I gently lean back over the rail, tonight, I'm going to dive headfirst for a halo.

I light up a smoke and begin my walk home, I used to think life was a joke, but if it isn’t, then why are we laughing?

It's been four minutes and thirty-seven seconds since I left the bridge and the black cat is still tailing me. I haven’t looked back, but I can hear her.

After six minutes I reach the door to my parents’ house and stare intently at the handle. I pull down and then thrust the door forward, almost tripping over my feet as I pass the threshold. I make my way up the stairs, past my parents’ bedroom, and to my room at the end of the hall.

Seconds after I enter, I collapse onto the unmade bed and roll over on to my back to stare at the ceiling.

I sit up on the bed, letting my feet dangling over the edge, staring intently to the dresser besides my bed and what lays on it. There’s my razors, my pills, and a bottle of peroxide. None of them seemed very inviting but I was beyond the point of caring.

In the days leading up to this I’ve rearranged the pills in alphabetical order twice, the razors from sharpest to the most blunt, and repeatedly change the time it’s all going to take place. But hey, now is as good of a time as any, right?

I glance to each option I have and rest my eyes on the blades as my first choice.

I gently place the sharpest blade in my left hand and raise the sleeve of my right arm. My right wrist consists of hundreds of faded lines, some even doubling up and overlapping.

I stare at the scars, a few more wouldn't hurt. In a true and honest opinion, I completely think scars are the most beautiful things ever. Fuck diamonds, cars and expensive shit. Scars are the only real thing anymore.

I glide the thin metal across my wrist finding ease with every slice.

Blood begins to appear and soon enough my whole wrist is coated in the thick, copper like substance.

As I continue to stare a sort of twisted, sense of satisfaction comes over me. This is the one thing I have control over, and I refuse to let it go to waste. I glance back down at my slashed wrist, and then look at my opposite arm. My clean wrist.

Without a seconds hesitation I drag the blade over my left wrist, blood immediately oozing out of the now fresh wound; creating a bloody wonderland.

Once I find enough release I stare at my inflamed wrists. They almost look as if they’ve been mauled by a tigers claws.

I lean back against the bed, staring intently at the pills.

The red ones make me fly and the blue ones help me fall. I decide to take them both, washing them down with the peroxide. This time I was leaving no room for mistakes, I wanted to die, and die tonight I would.

I pick up both bottles, resting them in my lap, when there is suddenly a quiet scratching at my window. It was the cat. Goddammit that stupid cat. I sigh as I lean forward to let it in and it immediately jumps on my bed; staring at me like it was waiting for something. For what, I didn't know. And I honestly didn't care.

I pop the cap of both bottles of pills and empty the lot into my mouth, then repeating the same process for the peroxide, swallowing it in large gulps along with the pills. It burned my throat, it felt like my insides were being torn to shreds.

I hung my head in my hands and attempted to impede the room from spinning and swaying. I groaned and clutched the bedpost for help but ended up knocking over everything on my desk; creating a loud crash to follow soon after. Shit. Within seconds there was a knock against the door, followed by the jiggling of the door knob. I was glad I locked it.
I rose from the ground weakly, my arm wrapped around my stomach. I felt like I was about to pass out. About three seconds after standing, I felt my legs give way beneath me as I struck my head against the table. I collided with the floor and it felt like my mind was going a million miles an hour, I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn't. I felt something touch my leg, and I managed to open my eyes wide enough to see the cat caressing my left leg; purring softly. I manage to smile weakly at it as I hear the screams of my mother, who must be in my room right now. I feel my head hit the soft carpet as I close my eyes and wait for death.