Chapter 1. The Burden of DeathA Chapter by Sid The first chapter deals with the protagonists apparent suicide and the reason for the same. He dragged his feet, lost in the
quagmire of his emotions. The feelings he had bottled in choked the very life
out of him, killing him slowly. He contemplated the easiest way to die - a
gunshot to the head seemed like the best choice but he had no way of procuring
a gun under any circumstances, thus his mind drifted off to the more common
means of suicide - “slitting the wrists while in the bathtub”, the cliched method of relief. As these thoughts floated in his mind he wondered how he
could be so cavalier about his means of escape. He sat down on his bed in the
desolate one room apartment he called home and brooded over the events in his
life. The death of his parents in that horrible accident, the mangled bodies he
had identified as a twelve year old; the rape and subsequent death of his older
sister and his last link to sanity, a year later. His utter lack of emotions that
left his world empty and the loneliness he felt despite being surrounded by
people who called him their friend even though he felt nothing for them and he lived
what he considered a forced life, uninterested in anything around him. He thought long about what he
wanted with his life and where he wanted to be in the future but all things
considered he drew a blank. He couldn't see his life beyond the next day, the
next hour or maybe even the next minute. The very thought of living made him
hurt all over as he drowned in this loneliness and then as if like a ray of
hope he remembered his life a coke addict and he felt worse when he realized that his days as a junkie were a lot better than his current life. He looked
around the sparse belongings scattered randomly around his house and felt a
longing for a different world " a world where he was truly alive. He felt that
he didn't have the strength to go on any further and that right there in the
tiny bathtub and at the edge of the newly opened blade on the windowsill laid
his escape. He walked over and stared out the window and came to the conclusion
that this was the day he called it quits. He got off his bed, picked up the
razor and went over to the bathtub set along the western wall of his bathroom.
He opened the faucet and let the cold water fill the tub as he watched the
water flow and fill it up. He expected nothing from his death, no release, no
shiny new world where his ghosts would leave but he just wanted to reach the
end as soon as possible and to that end he decided to go through with his plan
of killing himself. He had been taught that committing suicide was a sin unlike
any but he considered living the biggest sin of them all. When the tub was filled to the
brim, he stepped in with the blade held firmly in his right hand. As he sat
there in the warm water he realized the reason for his careless approach
towards his death " he didn't care about his life at all. It meant nothing to
him or to anyone around him for he was indeed alone in this world of
hypocrites. Content he leaned back and caressed his left wrist gently with the
blade and a light cut appeared as the blade passed his skin effortlessly. As he
watched the thin line of blood appear on his newly broken skin, he wondered if
his decision was indeed the final one. He gathered his resolve because after a
few moments of consideration he was sure of his decision, everything had to
end. It was impossible for him to carry on as he felt he had nothing left to
live for. He had no extravagant or for that matter even paltry dreams at all
for the future. He picked up the blade and said
softly, “It’s time for Ronit Oberoi to end it all at the edge of the blade.” He felt sad for reasons he couldn't explain but his decision was made and nothing could change it. He gritted his
teeth, clenched the blade hard between his thumb and two fingers of his right
hand and drew it deep and hard across his wrist and to his surprise blood
spurted out, an indication that he had gone deep enough to hit an artery;
though before he could think of anything else, he screamed out as a burning sensation
erupted in his left arm; it felt to him like (for the lack of a better analogy)
hell. He had read somewhere on the internet that the pain went away after a
while as the slit wrist was placed in water, but it made no difference. His
hand was, for the most part, on fire; the pain that ravaged his hand was
unbearable as he shook in the aftermath of the shock that his body had
experienced. He prayed to God that he would lose consciousness but that bliss
never came. After what felt like hours to him,
the pain started to recede even as the water around him slowly turned red. As
he shivered he reached for the blade he held in his right hand to finish the
job and slit his other wrist. As he tried to hold it between his thumb and
fingers it slipped out as he couldn't grip it well. He reached over the bathtub,
picked up the blade and with much effort finally managed to transfer it to his
bleeding and shaking left hand. He then tried to slit his right wrist but only
managed to make a shallow cut that hardly bled before it again became nearly
impossible for him to move his left hand; pain shot up through his left arm as
he tried to move it. He waited even as his left arm twitched in agony but
before long his arm started to go numb and with that the pain started to
subside. He made another effort to cut his other wrist and ripped through
layers of skin and cartilage before he gave up for the lack of strength. By now
his right wrist bled profusely indicative of a vein disruption. As he lay there
helpless and spent from all the pain, the endorphin released by his body
numbed it, he started to lose consciousness and reality started to fade away. Everything around him started to
turn black interspersed with flashes of intense pain and his body was ravaged
by spasms. As the darkness engulfed him, he let it all go and flowed away with
the tide of nothingness and slowly but surely left the world behind. © 2013 SidAuthor's Note
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