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The tragic, yet elaborate, suicide of a very unfortunate young man.

Everything inside of him said to do it.

He was never an impulsive guy, but at the same time, there weren't too many impulsive moments in his otherwise completely ordinary life. He waited a moment at most for a voice of reason, or an argument, something rational, or anything at all. 

He got nothing.

"F**k it." he said to himself. 

Beneath the silent tone was another, but it was barely audible. If anyone else had heard it would have sounded apathetic yet excited at the same time. How a guy with a revolver in his mouth managed to say "F**k it." quietly and apathetically, but also with excitement, was a clusterfuck of confusing questions waiting to be asked. The guy with the revolver had made sure there would be no one around to ask those questions though, and with good cause. He didn't know what he was going to be doing with that revolver until he did it, but he didn't want any crybabies trying to pretend they knew him.

He was watching a cloud drift lazily overhead when he unconsciously put the gun in his mouth. He stood there, in the middle of a perfectly flawless field, and stared into the wild blue and white yonder without knowing what he'd done.

He didn't pull the trigger so much as sling it backwards, using the bone in his index finger like a fleshy bat to sink a home run slug right into home run territory. Straight outta the barrel, through the roof of his mouth, into and through the soft tissues of his brain. Up, up, and away was more like up, up, and out of his skull, blasting bits of brain matter in every direction but down.

He never felt it. Well, he didn't feel the chunk of metal he had just sent rampaging through his temporal and parietal lobes. He did, however, feel himself being lifted from the ground. He felt himself rocket away from the crust of the Earth, and continue rocketing up into the sky.

Slow, enunciated words. They almost sounded carefully planned and pronounced:

" What. The. F**k."

He felt clouds gently slipping over his skin like big, round, fluffy, silky fingers reaching out to grab him. He felt a mist on his face at times, as if the clouds he passed through were brushing his cheeks with rain that was still in the womb. If this was death, he was certainly growing fond of it at an alarming rate.

Up, up, and up.

He continued on his journey through the clouds. The silky fingers and the prenatal rains began to thin out now, though he was still soaring upwards. He was beginning to worry.

"What in the hell...?"

Up,up, and up.

"What in the HELL is happening to me...?"

He burst through the top of the clouds like a phantom dolphin, or maybe a whale, or who knows? Maybe he looked like a damn seal. He wasn't concerned with what he looked like at that particular moment. His dead eyes had a ten second eternity to take in what he saw here. Miles and miles of pure, unfiltered sunlight. The reflection of it bouncing joyously off the surface of the clouds he had just shot himself through, lighting up this particular edge of space like nothing he had ever seen before. Sure, he had ridden in planes up here before, and he had seen pictures, but it was all so much different when you were there. When you were physically there it wasn't the same at all. When experiencing this part of the world first hand, it was really like being in another world altogether.

"Good f*****g GOD."

The feeling didn't last long, though. As soon as those words had come cascading vehemently over his lips he began to descend back towards the corpse he had left so far below. The slug he had ridden up, yes the same slug he had used to blast his spirit into the sky was beginning it's fall to Earth. To his complete horror, it was taking him with it, too.

"Oh no. No. No, NO, NO!"

Back through the cloud tops.

"NO! NO! NO! "

Back through that thin layer of baby rain mist, and then through the silky fingers...

"I don't want to go back!"

Down, down, down.

The speed at which even his spirit fell was mortifying. Just barreling recklessly towards the ground he had left not too long ago on what he though was a miraculous journey to the heavens. At some point -when he was too busy letting the cirrus clouds molest him while his soul bathed in a glorious, misty orgasm in the sky- he had just kind adopted (and embraced) the idea of this being his ascension. What else could it be?

It was his last ever smile. It was his last happy memory. It was his fifteen minutes. Maybe not his fifteen minutes of fame, but it was fifteen minutes of something just as good, wasn't it?

No.

After the initial shock of having to fall had passed, he began to notice things during his nose dive that he hadn't noticed before. It was something someone couldn't really miss, unless perhaps they had just blown their brain into space, but he had missed it.

He wasn't alone.

All around him, as far as he could see anyways, were what appeared to be other people. People that were doing what he was doing. People going up and other people coming down. Some were floating, some were just kind of lazily drifting, and some were going at a moderate, acceptable speed. He saw a fair amount that were zooming up just as he had. All of them seemed to be returning at the same speed, too. 

He was trying his hardest to take in the entirety of them before he got too close to the ground again. It was a hard concept to grasp. All of the people were doing what he had just done, or doing what he was doing now, or something of the sort. He would have never guessed there were that many people in the world that were as confused, or unhappy, or as sick and tired as he was. He had heard statistics before, but really? This was almost breath-taking. He knew that was such a horrid way to think of it, but it really was almost...nice? So many souls just out in the open like that. Climbing and soaring and sinking and crashing and diving and - 

Everything went black. He hadn't been paying attention. He had turned his back to the planet beneath him, and he had gotten too sidetracked to think about what was going to happen. 

Nothing. 

Nothing happened. 

His soul crashed back into his corpse and everything went black. He would never know what had happened. Just like he would never see those clouds again, or feel them on his cheeks, or smell dinner when he got home, or hug his parents, or childishly high five his friends for no reason.

He was about as alive as a roadkill under the third set of tires on a big rig. The only difference really was that instead of getting splattered by a tanker on an interstate, his head had been splattered by a .357 Magnum revolver. Not splattered so much as destroyed, really. He would never know the difference though. He wouldn't know anything ever again...

...especially how nice it felt to just lay down in that meadow for a while.

Author's Note

Criticize away, I need it. =)