And the Hero Will Drown

I actually started writing this story a really long time ago, but I wasn't able to finish it at the time, consigning it to the depths of my hard drive, probably never to emerge again. Originally, the ending was completely different, but I came up with

He debated for hours about the best way to do it. He considered just slitting his wrists, but that seemed too melodramatic, too... trite for his tastes. He'd already considered hanging, but he had no idea how to tie a noose to actually kill himself. It was more likely he'd end up standing on the floor looking like an idiot when he jumped off the table with too much rope and wasn't able to untie the knot before anybody showed up. Fire too, he considered and rejected almost immediately. He thought of the Buddhist who lit himself in protest, and almost thought that fire might be poetic enough to suit his purposes. And then he remembered the local fire department, the members of which would not understand what he was doing and would likely try to save him. He didn't want to live, especially if he had to finish life disfigured by his failed statement.

Which meant a gun. It wasn't hard to get one, after all, if one knows how. He ended up choosing a .45 he'd seen in a pawn shop earlier that night. By now it was long closed, but building aren't really closed if one has a good brick and a decent throwing arm.

After having secured his weapon of choice, along with some ammo he pocketed as he walked out the door, he had to decide where to shoot himself, which was more tricky then one would think. He considered placing the gun against his temple, but that would almost obliterate his face. He wanted her to see his face...

He decided on the neck, pointing the barrel straight into his trachea. This, he praised his thinking skills, was poetic enough to suit his purposes. It almost had an ironic symmetry to it, dying by destroying the voice she never gave him...

...Earlier that day, he had approached her. He always planned something for whenever they'd talk, whether it be a random joke he'd thought of or some inspired comment about life. For some reason, he preferred approaching her from behind, it gave him some sort of advantage when he was talking with her. It was as though the element of surprise helped him to not stammer over his words.

Normally, she'd at least react when he addressed her. Today, though, it was almost like she didn't hear him. He cleared his throat and tried again. She was engaged in conversation with some of her friends, but they were leaving. He tried again, to no avail. He screamed this time, and she still refused to turn around. He even dared to touch her shoulder, but apparently she hadn't noticed...

...She'd never really noticed, he thought. He'd done everything short of dressing in costume and interpretive dancing his feelings for her, but she either was too blind to
notice or just didn't care. Today had just been the latest episode in a long series of encounters that should have showed him he had misplaced his affection. Of course,
he hadn't exactly helped things either. He was able to excuse her actions, as one is able to excuse the actions of any angel on this plane. He created excuses for her,
thinking, "She's busy," or "She has a lot on her plate." He'd filled in her part of the relationship with the obvious excuses and his hopes and dreams for what she was. He chuckled, thinking that he'd never find out who she really was, below the excuses he made for her.

And now he'd had enough. Enough of trying to be noticed and failing miserably. Enough of love that either couldn't or wouldn't be returned, no matter how much of it he poured into her. She sucks it in, he thought, and I'll never give her enough for it to come back out, even if I give her all my love it'll still never be enough...

...so he was going to give her the voice she never gave him. He locked the slide back on the pistol and placed a bullet in the chamber. Then, he pushed the slide release catch on the side and the mechanism moved foward. Flicking the safety off, he stretched out his neck, looking at the ceiling, while he brought the weapon into position, pointing slightly upward...

It was at this point that he began to seriosuly reconsider what he was about to do. He immediately thought of a flaw in his plan: what if he didn't die immediately? The whole point of choosing the gun was to die as soon as possible, and by shooting his voice box he brought about the possibility of not dying. If he lived, the bullet would probably sever his spinal cord after obliterating his vocal cords and thyroid, and, chance are, he would clip a major artery and bleed out on the floor, not able to call for help or move to keep himself from drowning in his own blood.

He ejected the bullet from the chamber, putting it back in the box and sliding both the gun and the bullets into separate drawers of the desk he was sitting at.He walked over to the door of the house and opened it to the night. He decided to go for a walk, though to where at the moment he had no idea.

Roughly half an hour later, he found himself at the lake, as though drawn there by some force or desire. He knew what he had to do...

He walked into the freezing water slowly, not because he wanted a chance to acclimate, but because he was savoring the biting cold. He liked the feeling of a thousand knives stabbing all over his body, liked the way he involutarily shivered to keep warm. He walked deeper and deeper, slowly letting the water flow over his head, enveloping his body. He wasn't cold anymore, rather, a feeling of numbness spread through his body, starting at his extremeties and working its way in, toward his chest and abdomen. He finally thought that this was the best way to go about it, to become numb and just... slip... away... His chest started convulsing slightly, his lungs trying to inhale but encountering no way of getting any more air, creating a slight vacuum in the back of his throat...

A hand reached down to him from the surface, and grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the shore. At this point, he was unconscious, but when he came to a few minutes later, realizing that someone had saved him, he began to think of a few people who could've done it. He opened his eyes, and the face he saw wasn't who he
expected. It wasn't even on his list of possibilities...

...she sat behind him in English. Not Her, of course, but the girl who saved him. She was quite timid, especially when meeting people, and he couldn't remember ever talking to her all year...

She realized he was awake, and asked him the obvious question, "Are you warm enough yet?". She'd wrapped him in a thick blanket, and laid her winter coat on top of it, over his chest.

He thought for a moment, and, realizing that he actually felt quite toasty, answered, "Yeah, it feels... pretty good, actually." and followed it up with a thin smile.

She got straight to the point, and asked him, "Why did you walk into the lake in the middle of the night in February?", to which he had no immediate answer. She waited a moment, and then said, quitely, "You know, I've been watching you for awhile. English was my favorite class," she smiled sheepishly, "I know I never said anything, I know I should have, but I didn't feel like I could. You were always distracted, always seemed to be ready to leave that class as soon as you could..."

He didn't actually hear the next couple of words she said, he was remembering why he was distracted. English was one of the few times he could catch Her between classes, so he'd always leave as fast as he could to meet up with her and try to talk. Try being the operative word...

...She didn't notice he was distracted, and continued, "Anyway, I saw you walking down the street earlier tonight, you walked right by my house. I saw you out the window of my room, so I grabbed my coat and followed you. I saw you walk into the lake, I thought for a minute or two that you were just going for a swin. I realized the water was freezing, but I guess some people enjoy that. After you didn't come up, though, I took off my coat and jumped in after you, and kinda dragged you to shore..."

He noticed that she was wet as well, and shivering in the night air. He said, before she could say anything else, "Do you want your coat back, I'm really fine, now..."

She smiled and her teeth chattered, and she said that she would be OK for a few minutes. She continued her story, "So, after I got you on dry land, I ran home - I live just down the road from here- and grabbed the blanket and wrapped you in it. You were still shivering, though, so I laid my coat on top of you and waited for you to wake up."

At this point, a particularly violent shiver overtook her, and she stopped talking for a moment. Taking advantage of the break, he said, "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm feeling a little cold now, could you come over here and lay next to me?" She obliged, moving the lip of the blanket over and sliding next to him. He wasn't really cold, though, but he knew that she needed to be warmed fast. After she got settled, he began to rub her arms, legs, and abdomen, trying to warm her as quickly as possible. She turned her head slightly, and kissed him.

She immediately apologized for the kiss, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, you had no idea, and probably didn't want to anyway..."

He interrupted her, saying, "I know now, and I'm ready...", and this time, he was able to kiss her back. His hands stopped rubbing, and, instead, wrapped around her in an embrace, a move she was quick to copy after he made it. Her body still felt cold against his, but he knew, in the same way he knew that he should go to the lake earlier that night, that his combination of his body warmth and the blanket would bring her back to normal before long. He slipped away again, not to numbness and death, but to warmth and life. After it happened neither of them could be sure, but they both felt, her nuzzled into his chest, him with his arms around her, that they dreamed as one that night, not as one or the other, but as the new creature of both of them united.

They slept through the day and into the next night, both of them still in the woods by the lake. He was able to sneak back into his house, and get the gun and the ammo back out of his desk. He carefully wiped them both clean, and, walking to the pawn shop where he had stolen them, snuck through the police tape barring the broken window and replaced his ill-gotten wares back where he had originally found them. He left all the money he had on him (amounting to a little over a hundred -wet- dollars) under the pistol, and hoped that owner's insurance would cover the rest of the cost to repair the window.

He met her where they parted, in the woods at the lake. He was wearing a long coat now, as today he was better able to prepare for the cold, and she gladly slid under the lapel of his coat, embracing him as they walked down the street talking and laughing.