They go, ďClear!Ē They go, ďGet away!Ē And I wish that I could. Something like lightening hitting me in the chest, and my piss sizzles like the sounds from a broken radio. I want to tell them to stop. I want to tell them to give it up.
But I canít, not until they succeed. Canít talk until they get my heart beating, and only then can I tell them not to get my heart beating. I want them to fail, and if they donít fail this time, if they canít, Iíll tell them to try harder next time.
Heís in my face all the sudden, some guy, his breath smells like strawberry, which is better than the garlic smell of the first guy. Heís telling me to stay with them, to fight, to hold on. I try to flip him the bird, but the only thing my body does is continue to die.
I never asked for any of this nonsense, and I have no idea why it has taken me so long to understand that I donít have to put up with it anymore. All this time, I fought and I tried and I suffered, never realizing that giving up was the thing I wanted most. Never realizing that it was so easy. But now here I am, and it isnít quite as easy as I had imagined. Now here they are, and theyíre making it not as easy.
I feel kind of bad, because theyíre trying like hellógiving it their all to save me. I wish I could tell them to stopóto just go downstairs and get a cup of coffee and wait around for a little bit so it seems like they gave it their best shot. I wish I could tell them to relax a little.
I watch from the sofa as he blows into my mouth, and I taste his strawberry gum and feel his hands on my on my chest. I feel a pull, something trying to get me back inside my body. Itís hard to fight, like resisting the urge to look at the pretty girl sitting next to you on the train, or ignoring the dollar bill on the street.
I donít know whatís nextóI havenít really thought that far ahead. It might be worse, or maybe itíll just be more of the same. I could go backóthereís still time. But I donít want to. As bad as it was before, itíll be even worse if I go back now. Theyíll know, know that I did it on purpose. Thereíll be all kinds of awkward questions, and therapy and bullshit.
I donít want that. I try to push the guy, get him away from my body so he wonít keep trying to pull me back. My hands donít sink into himóthey cease to exist just before I reach him. The pull gets stronger the closer I am to my body, so I decide to go for a walk.
Iím on the street. I donít remember how I got here. Doesnít matter. I can still smell the trash rotting alongside the summer streets. I wonder if this is itójust another level of the same. A lady is walking her dog and it barks at me as I pass. She doesnít notice me at all.
I glance into a shop window, not because I care whatís inside, but to see if I have a reflection. Nope. Thatís fineóI never cared much for my reflection anyway.
The train pulls into the station above me, and it doesnít seem as loud as usual. I begin climbing the steps, curious to see if Iíll still get winded.
I hear the conductor announcing the station, announcing the next stop. I walk faster, hoping to catch it before it pulls away.
The stench of garbage isnít as strong, and as I reach the top of the stairs, I see that the lights of the token booth arenít as bright as usual. Is this death? Life muted?
But then I realize that even as I watch, the lights are dimming, the scents fading. The train pulls from the station, but I donít hear it. I donít feel the familiar rumble of the shaking platform.
I hear a voice say, ďHeís done.Ē
And itís right.