The Toilet Stall

I was a Monday. I shuffled my feet into the bathroom after fetching a length of rope that hung in my closet. it was fashioned as a noose, quiet sturdy even for the strongest of necks. My neck felt tight around the eyelet as I drew it over my head and tightened it. I sat down on the toilet and heard flushes accompanied by footsteps and echoing laughing and indistinct chatting. There wasn't anything different about this Monday, for every Monday I sat in the same stall with the rope in my hand. This Monday stood out from the other Mondays because I never fixed it against my neck. I envied the successful stories of those who proceeded with the act and escaped the hardships of their lives. I hated myself adequately to drop out from my major last semester, alienate myself from my friends and tell myself I'm not worth the spit on the mirror. There was a hook on the door of the stall, although the metal was rusted it was fixed enough to hold my weight. I tied around the end of the ligature and tested it by squirming about and flailing my legs and arms, simulating my unconscious body thrashing around while it fights for oxygen. There was a moment of brief relief, as I inhaled sharply and exhaled. Another flush from the adjacent stall. I moved into the position and tightened it around my neck. I would have to be partially off the ground since the hook was less than 4 feet and I was nearly 6 feet tall. I let my legs buckle, and an explosion of tension gripped my neck. I tried to stop all movement and ignore the pain, and think of a happy place. My father instead popped up. Images of his tall, imposing figure invaded my memories, as I felt tears gather within my eyes. Things became blurry. Another toilet flush echoed throughout the bathroom, and I could feel tremendous pressure within my head; the blood flow to my head had pooled. My head then became numb as I drifted into a peaceful sleep. Then someone attempted to open the toilet stall door. They knocked with a sense of urgency, I assumed that they had to use the toilet, as the only other two may have been occupied. I remained silent as possible while in the remainder of consciousness I had left. Just then, the hook twisted and gave out and I fell to the floor. The sound of another flush filled the bathroom. The sound of sobbing and water flushing. I hate Mondays.