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The Attempt

She had contemplated ways and means, methods and madness. How she would do it. Her tears were a silent scream lodged in her throat, unable to force their way out into the crazy world. She methodically read manuals, calmly wrote a holographic will in her hand. Left a note for her daughter. And to the last person she had seen in the last 24 hours, she begged for him to pray for her soul, that she not be damned to the fires of Hell, that she be forgiven by God.

She experimented. The fear of pain, the unknown of the world beyond Death, nudged her. Forced her to contemplate the least painful ways. A knife. Splitting open the skin on her arm just a wee bit, and she had winced, gasped from the pain of sharp searing the soft. A track of blood appeared, she had gasped again, remembering in her head, do it fast. Do it hard. And she had pictured her limp body, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Bleeding to death. What a mess it’d be to clean up. Fear of the pain stopped her. The thought of arterial bleeding, and an agonizing hour of bleeding did not tempt her.

She walked to the bathroom, filled a tub with water, and without thinking twice, plunged her head into it, willing herself to stop breathing, to open up her nasal passage, to let her lungs accept the inflow of water. And as the water began to fill her eyes, nose, mouth, she kicked. She writhed. Her first instinct was to jump out, gulp air. Still, she held on and hoped for salvation. When her lungs began to burn, she lost hope. Threw her head back, gasping and sobbing like a weeping naiad, water running down her t-shirt and jeans.

A prospective overdose was next. Frantic and like a mad person, she grabbed every bottle of prescription medicine she could find. Poured them all into a big bowl, crushed the pills into fine powder. Took her first gulp of that horrendous mix. Imagined herself shitting in her pants when the time came that she would lose her bodily functions. The vomit spewing from her mouth, asphyxiating her. The mess on the kitchen floor. Foaming at the mouth. Agonizing minutes like a broken puppet doll. More gulps and then she spewed it all out, choking, coughing. The cocktail burned her throat, made her heady.

Then her tears came. Fast and furious. She could not stop here. She simply could not. She wept and cried for her own plight. She screamed, beating herself up with her own fear of dying.

She begged for her dead father to speak to her. Am I to come to you, Daddy? she had asked. Please tell me. Am I to come to you? Will you look for me when I am gone from earth? Will you bring me home with you? And she continued to cry, the world crashing down upon her shoulders.

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