Thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . thump . . .
Feel that?
As it slowly fluctuates, spreading its wings almost too angelically, oxygen and the hell it brings, also known as life, rushes back into the two pink sheets imprisoned underneath the ribcage. The diaphragm moves up – high, above, beyond to make way for the gigantic swoosh of heavy hot breath burning up the walls of the dry throat, finally escaping out through those soft lips.
The lungs try to lie, playing off the discomfort of wavering sheer pain; yet, underneath its façade, it’s losing the battle indefinitely. Trapped and feeling claustrophobic for the first time since it had been borne in this body – it doesn’t want to let go, instinctively.
The blood muscles quench and lash at one another – tightly squeezed and roughed-up in the veins . . . painfully and sparingly trying to regain oxygen. But the heart’s fist is tightening the passage way, and the blood living inside the atria’s can no longer travel as they please, draining the ventricles out of the chambers. Unlike the lungs, the heart is giving up the fight more easily, sufficiently, and . . . forgivingly.
The two vital organs in the body are raging war against one another.
Meanwhile, the rest of the body is confused – wanting answers for the sudden interruption. Everything was fine an hour ago, running smoothly like any other day, so what was going on? Cells screaming, blood thrashing into one another; the bodily order was now completely thrown off. Everything starts scrambling . . . trying to get into contact with the brain. But there is no response.
The brain has been put to ease long before the body realized that it was being robbed – murdered. The mind has already fled. There’s nothing that can help it; nothing to interfere because nature is taking its course. Too bad the body hasn’t realized – the brain wanted it.
Throbbing . . . scathingly, the trembling hands trace up to the neck that is screaming, howling, in pain but still very much alive – unconquered. The constant throbs spread from the neck down, igniting jolting sharp and fiery pains at the shoulder blades. The thickly deepened line scrawled across the neck glints in the dark light of the bathroom. The rope; fat, nasty brown and coarsely abrasive did not make it happen. It was too weak and the neck was now sneering at it, making fun of how evil it really wasn’t – making fun of how it was all talk.
The rope did not conquer the neck.
The first attempt to die has failed.
There has to be another way.
. . . Step . . . Step in . . . warm . . . so warm . . . water is gushing in layers from the handle into the tub, spilling clumsily down onto the luminescent tiles. It trickles into the Liverpool to join the heap of wetness. Purely evanescent and so clear that even the blurry, negative photograph that the eyes captures confirm how shallow the tub really is.
The legs, beautiful and wise from all the years of holding up the body, steps in . . . turns . . . and guides it down.
Water . . . warm water . . . from the curvature of each big toe, to the bent of the knees, to the shapely pelvic bone, and finally the large rush of the body of water engulfing the longitude of the neck – it eats up the body. Minutes . . . hours . . . eternity . . . hell, what is time when this is all over?
Waterlogged, the left wrist floats to the surface only to be raped by the fingers on the right hand. In and out, intertwining in-between the gap where each finger is positioned – they are saying their last goodbyes.
The left hand draws up the knife that is gleefully happy to be doing something it was made for, almost loses its balance in its excitement; it smiles at the wrist like a lover, seductively. Poised, ready to strike.
So alive . . . the dark green veins residing deep inside the flesh are . . . breathtaking beautiful . . .
Sharp, cold, and plain blade . . . the knife lands on top of the wrist dexterously like a butterfly. Compared to the beautiful wrist, it was so mediocre – it didn’t deserve to be in the presence of such a beautiful wrist, but there it was – ready. Attack!
Inhale . . .
The diaphragm floats down . . . .
The heart thumps in symphony . . . .
Silence flows into the ears . . . deafening the ear drums.
The stomach tightens in rhythms.
Exhale . . .
Tip of the knife grazes down, kissing the wrist like a long-lost lover. It slides across the butter-like skin never hesitating and cooing – almost singing a sweet melody. Taking apart the skin cells that lie above the vein, it stops at the end of the poised wrist that showed no sign of wanting it to stop. Splitting apart lives on the wrist - the loud howls of the skin cells resonated in angst.
“Ahh . . .” Exhale . . .
“Some people have problems while others have issues. The unfortunate ones are the ones that have both.”
The mouth opens to allow a deep rumbling moan that had been suppressed all this time. The mind suddenly flashes in rapid pace, one after the other – One. Two. Three. Distorted images run rampant, cutting across the tranquility.
“It's easier to die than to live with this pain . . . ."
Grip. The hands have latched onto something, perhaps the sides of the tub, forcing the natural reflexes to subdue as they started fighting back - wanting to live. The body’s piercing scream of STOP goes unnoticed. Pain shoots, bursting like thousands of bright lights, sprinkling all over like remnants.
“I love how you make me feel like there's hope in this crazy world .”
Platelets . . . red platelets of blood surging and flowing thickly from the vein that had burst. Bright red flow, thick and circular in groups; sensually, they coil around the wrist to replicate a form of a bracelet. Drip Drop. Splatter spread.
"I'm going to take you far away tomorrow. It'll only be the two of us."
The lucid, iridescent water is now tainted with that red foreign substance that gives life. Nothing is pure or innocent anymore . . . The Pain . . . The body is roaring in high-pitched operatic sound but the mind is asleep. The legs kick, sending water trickling down the side of the tub’s own body even more; the right wrist is now handicapped – but the left hand is holding onto the knife with a vengeance still.
Inhale . . .
Exhale . . .
The lungs keep pace as the heart quickens all of a sudden . . .
Blood . . . blood everywhere . . . blood spreading like an epidemic in this contained area.
Panic . . . swirls . . . loud screams . . . white flashes, snapping different shades . . . HARD . . . beating . . . . no . . . panic . . . blood . . . convoluted . . . rise . . . breathe in . . . let it out . . .
Sigh . . . relief . . .
Repeat: it was over. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.
This bathroom – this random bathroom that held no meaning whatsoever, this bathroom that wasn’t glamorous or sensible, this worthless bathroom is now and forevermore the mark of something significant. Now, only the sounds of trickling water from the tub and the silent suffering of a soul can be heard. Otherwise, nothing else.
The squish, squash, slash of water rocks the tub . . . in and out . . spilling wildly with glee – those red platelets, blood, devours the body. The back, so strong and smooth meets the bottom of the tub for the first time, and embraces it. The smile flees from those beautiful lips – like the moon fleeing from the sun . . .and the eyes, those misty windows, shuts forever but not before a visible liquid drop trickles out . . . a tear . . . the water now completely swallows the face and drags down the body underneath, fulfilling - burying the now corpse under it.
Distorted and painful.
But successful.
The soul leaks out, soars. It looks back with mild regret and temptation to give it just one more time. But that body, that pitiful body that everyone in the whole entire world saw it as, judged it as, and criticizes it as . . . abused it as.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
No way.
Never again.
The soul takes flight.
And what is left?
But just a body. A body with a brain - a mind that remembers all those horrible memories. The soul doesn't take the body along with it, thus the soul will have no brain to remember. The soul will start over, find a new home, forget everything. Somehow.
“I'm in so much pain love. I'm so sorry for leaving you like this . . . .”
Credits: Solangel.
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