Fire In The Night

A short, dark description of the night I tried to end my life.

The flickering flames of the fire cast long shadows across the worn out pressure treated planks as John sat on his back porch. The night was still, a quiet serenity that contrasted sharply with the turmoil within him. In his hand, he held a small, orange prescription bottle, the label worn and peeling from picking at it nervously. He turned it over and over, feeling the pills rattle inside like a tiny, ominous maraca.

He had chosen this place for a reason. The back porch was where he had spent countless evenings with his wife and son, who were now gone to the big city to visit her parents. They would sit for hours, talking, laughing, and playing with their son. It was a place filled with memories of happier times. Now, it felt like the right place to end it all, amidst the ghosts of his past.

The fire crackled and popped, sending up occasional sparks that danced in the cool night air. John stared into the flames, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Fear and despair wrestled for control, each one taking turns to torment him. He felt a gnawing emptiness, a profound sense of failure that seemed to choke him with every breath. He was tired, tired of the endless cycle of pain and disappointment, tired of pretending to be okay when everything inside him was shattered. Tired of lying to those he loved about the pain he felt on a daily basis.

John's fingers tightened around the bottle. He had spent weeks rehearsing and planning this moment, gathering the courage to finally go through with it. He had saved up pills that his friend had given him over the course of a few months. He had written a letter to everyone as he didn't want them to blame themselves, though he knew they probably would. He just wanted the pain to stop, the incessant ache that had become his constant companion. 

Yet, even now, with the pills in his hand and the firelight casting a warm glow on his face, he hesitated. He felt a pang of guilt, imagining the faces of those he would leave behind. His mother and father, who had always been his biggest supporters, would be devastated. His sister, and close friends would all have not seen it coming. And then there was his wife and son, the ones who had tried to help him, even as he pushed them away.

A tear slid down John's cheek, and he brushed it away angrily. He didn't want to cry; he wanted to be strong in his final moments. But the tears kept coming, a flood of emotion that he couldn't control. The fear was overwhelming, a suffocating presence that made his chest feel tight. What if it didn't work? What if he ended up in more pain than he was already in? The uncertainty gnawed at him, adding to his already heavy burden.

As he opened the bottle and poured the pills into his hand, they glinted in the firelight, little white promises of peace. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He felt a surge of panic, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The finality of it all hit him, a wave of cold realization that this was it, there would be no going back. 

John took a deep, trembling breath as he brought the pills to his lips, feeling their smooth, cold surface against his tongue. He swallowed them five by five, the bitterness of each tablet burning a trail down his throat and washing them down with a bottle of gin. His hands shook uncontrollably, betraying the turmoil within. A sense of finality washed over him, mingling with an intense, almost paralyzing fear. He felt a hollow ache in his chest, a profound sadness as he realized this was his last act, the ultimate surrender. Regret gnawed at him, interspersed with fleeting memories of laughter and love, but they were quickly overshadowed by the relentless, suffocating despair. As he sat back, waiting for the darkness to claim him, tears traced a path down his cheek, a silent testament to the pain he could no longer bear.

Whilst the fire still glowed softly and he lay under the night sky,  his eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed, and his mouth was still harvesting the remnants of the vomit he had released upon his chest and legs, a grim reminder of the pills he had swallowed an hour before. Disorientation set in as he struggled to piece together where he was and why he was still alive. He felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment and confusion, the heavy weight of his continued existence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His body felt weak, every movement a struggle, and his mind was a whirlwind of jumbled thoughts and emotions. The familiar ache of despair lingered, but now it was accompanied by a new layer of shame and frustration.

As the initial fog of confusion began to lift, John was confronted by a wave of conflicting emotions. He felt an intense anger at himself for failing at something as final as ending his own life, coupled with a reluctant sense of relief that he was still here. Guilt gnawed at him as he thought about the people who would have found him, the pain he would have inflicted on them. The realization that he had survived filled him with a strange mixture of dread and hope, dread at facing another day, another battle with his inner demons, and a faint glimmer of hope that perhaps this was a second chance. Tears welled up in his eyes as he lay there, grappling with the stark reality of his survival, feeling the fragile hands of life pulling him back from the brink.

He sat there for a long time, watching the fire burn down to embers. The night grew colder, and he wrapped his arms around himself, drawing comfort from the warmth of the dying flames. He didn't have all the answers, and he knew the road ahead would be difficult. But as he looked up at the stars, shining brightly in the dark sky, he felt a renewed sense of determination. He wasn't ready to give up just yet.

Jeff Holden