[Foreword: The following is a short story born purely of impulse but over the past hour and a half I have spent writing it, I've kinda begun to like it. I request those of you who do read this, to carry on till the end and please do leave a comment. Hope you Like it!]-Amogh Sood
He was an average guy, of average build with an average job which payed an average salary. He was an average man with an average life.
He was 35 years of age, young by some standards, but he had been spotting signs of middle age which would eventually lead to old age. He pictured himself at 50, maybe 60, old and infirm, bound to a wheel chair, with little or no money, maybe bald, and no kids, oh how he hoped that he would have no kids. Honestly, there wasn't much to look forward too.
So he sat there idly, twirling a lone ice cube in a glass of scotch, the drink had cost him more than he earned a day but it was worth it, after all you only die once.
Throughout his life the one thing he did achieve was that he was always composed, cool as a cucumber, steady as a rock--well except when he was born, for like all people, he was born covered in blood, kicking and crying. That was the only time people who had known him all his life had seen him express himself, and luckily for him he had no memory of that time for if he did the very thought of "not having his act together" would have killed him.
But he wasn't at the upmarket bar to kill himself. No sir he wasn't. He was there simply to decide upon the best way to do it, to mull things over, after all he had only one shot at it. For the record, this wasn't the first time such thoughts had crossed his mind, he had been at this juncture before and the last time he had drowned a dozen or so sleeping pills with one and half bottle of vodka. The dose was enough to kill a horse. But somehow that night three months ago, he wasn't meant to die.
And so here he was again confronted with dilemma of deciding upon his exeunt.
He looked up. The air was thick, laden with cigar smoke, dissent and snobbery. After all in a room full of gucci's and armani's he was the only one with a generation old corduroy jacket and a worn out shirt. He attracted stares from all over the room, they hated him and he hated them back, he wasn't one of them and they made sure he knew that.
But he had greater things to worry about. A will was out of question, he owned very little and had no one to give it to, he didn't have to worry about funeral preparations no one would be there anyway, what he was bothered by was how he'd die. It was a big deal, not many people get to plan their death to the finest detail and very few get a second chance.
The last time around, after much deliberation, he had decided that he would go quietly. But not this time. He had lived his entire life without being noticed and so in his death he wanted to create a veritable ruckus, Go out with A BANG. He wanted to make the paper.
He finally grabbed a tissue and pulled out a pen and drew three vertical lines. He rested his head on his palm and stared at the lines, the ice cube was gone by now, but the continued to stir his drink. Then after what seemed like an eternity, it finally dawned upon him. He would climb the highest building in town, take the elevator to the very top and jump. "A bit cliched", he admitted to himself, "but will certainly get the job done."
So it was settled. He would wake up at 9.00 clock in the morning, take the bus at 9.45, will be at the tallest building in town at 10.30 and would make the big leap at exactly 10.40.
He gulped down his drink, headed home, had a good night's rest and was up at 9.00. He took the bust at 9.45 and was at the second-tallest building in town by 10.30. There was a reason for heading to the second tallest building in town. While he brushed his teeth for the very last time in his life, he realized that he worked at the tallest building in town and he hated that place. Surely he wouldn't want to die there. He had to make do with the second-tallest building in town.
He took the elevator to the top, walked out on to the roof and headed over to the ledge. He stood there and lit a cigarette. "My last smoke," he promised himself.
Now you may know how when one is about to die their entire life flashes before them. Something similar happened to our protagonist. The only problem was that he had never truly lived, so there was nothing to put in the ending credits. Surely he couldn't go out like that.
So he stepped back and after 35 years cried. He took the elevator back down, walked down to the nearest liquor store and bought a bottle of champagne. He had decided that he would live, he would celebrate. He wasn't bothered by the fact that the champagne cost him 2 months of his salary because for the first time in his 35 years of existence he felt truly Alive.
He headed home, decided to cut across an alley, after all he was in a hurry for it was the first day of his new life.
That's when a tall dark man with a handkerchief across his face walked up to him with a gun in hand.The tall dark man relieved him of his wallet and then shot him.
Our hero collapsed, blood and champagne ran together and drained into a storm water drain. He did go out with a bang, a bang heard by some policemen in the vicinity who chased down the suspect, he did make the paper-Page 2 Victim of yet another Mugging.
He had lived when he had decided to die. He had died when he decided to live.
Amogh Sood signing off and thanking you for your patience.
-The Passive Observer