I think, This is it.
It's not like I didn't try to adapt to this world—to this society.
But I couldn't.
It makes me gag. It physically nauseates me to witness the hypocrisy of the animals called humans.
They truly believe they're superior to every other species on this planet.
I can see it—feel their hypocrisy. The lies buried behind every "I love you."
When they say they care for their family, sacrifice everything for their children's future, they do it pretending it's unconditional.
But when they're old and withered, they expect those same children to return the favor.
If that's not conditional love, what is?
I never found an answer to these questions.
And when I ask them—when I point out the contradictions—they laugh. They call me mad.
They say I talk too much. That I think too much.
Isn't that funny?
I see. I know. But I can't fix anything.
My name? Forget it.
It never mattered. Not to my family, not to anyone.
Why am I saying all this?
Haha… maybe just to stir up some final inconvenience before I leave.
Believe me, it's nothing but a harmless prank to them.
They won't even be sad I'm gone.
I was invisible when I was alive.
But I bet they'll be annoyed. Cleaning up after a suicide is messy business.
Yes. I've decided. I'm leaving this rotting, hypocritical circus of a world.
A place where every relationship is a negotiation, wrapped in moral bullshit no one follows.
Where laws exist just so the rich and clever can find loopholes when they break them.
I hate this world.
From the bottom of my soul—I despise it.
I never belonged here. Not even with my own blood.
This is the most honest I've ever been with myself.
So… goodbye.
I glance at the rope I bought from the mall today. Cheap stuff. Thin and rough.
I laugh.
How embarrassing would it be if I failed to die because the damn rope snapped?
I steady my breath, eyes cold.
No matter what—I won't leave even a single chance of survival.
That would be pathetic. Dishonorable.
I always keep my word.
I rise from the chair.
To seal the deal, I down ten blood pressure pills in one gulp.
If the hanging fails, the heart attack won't.
Then, for extra safety—five diluted sleeping pills mixed into water.
If not Plan A, then B and C combined can't possibly fail me. Right?
Next: the ceiling fan. My final partner.
I tie the rope. Adjust it to the right height.
I even place a stick nearby—its purpose is simple.
There's a 30% chance my neck won't break from the fall.
If that happens, I could hang there, suffering, and might change my mind.
But if I turn the fan on after I hang, the rotation will jerk the rope—increasing the chances of a clean break.
"Done," I whisper, finally.
Everything's perfect.
Before I go, let's mess with Mom one last time.
I light a cigarette.
It'll be funny if, when she finds me, the first thing she notices is the smoke.
Maybe she'll try to scold me one last time for smoking inside.
Too bad.
She won't get the chance.
I step onto the stool.
The noose tight around my neck.
My pulse feels heavy, the pills are kicking in.
Dizzy… sluggish.
I push the fan switch with the stick.
Then kick the stool.
Silence.
This is it.
I'm free.
…
No sound. No sensation.
It worked, right?
There's no pain… so it must've worked.
But… how am I still thinking?
Wait.
Am I in a hospital?
Fuck no.
That would be pathetic. Did someone save me?
Everything's dark.
Still no sensation.
Am I dead?
Is this the afterlife?
Is there even such a thing?
I try to move my body.
Even if I didn't die, if I'm still alive… shouldn't I be able to move?
If my body's working, then maybe I still have a chance to finish what I started.
But… what the fuck is this?
Why am I feeling this absurd pain in the upper part of my chest?
Is this what a heart attack feels like?
Please, God…
I never asked you for shit.
This is my last wish. Just grant me this one.
Heh.
I laugh, even now.
Funny, isn't it? I never believed in any divine crap—yet here I am, begging a fictional god to take me away from this circus.
I don't know how much time has passed…
Slowly… I feel something.
My body. It's starting to feel again.
Fuck!
What's with this pain?
I hanged myself.
There should be nothing except neck pain—so why the hell does my chest feel like it's being crushed?
Why does it feel like my muscles are ripping apart?
Why the fuck… does it feel like I'm still here?