(no subject)
He was going to give it all to him. Why wouldn’t he? He wasn’t planning on living any longer anyways, so why not give it all to someone who would find use for it, needed it and would cherish it? Not like his parents would keep any of it. They’d probably dump it all, and even if it was garbage it meant the world to Eric. All of it was his life.
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make important life decisions while drinking… but Eric was a little to far under the bottle, and a little to far gone to be helped anyways. He was prepared for the death that awaited him.
Running a hand through his dark hair he finished writing his note to Shay, and pinned it to the backside of the door, knowing that Shay would find it there, right under the coat hook. Shay was notoriously neat and always hung up his jacket there when he came in. He was the only one that did. If it weren’t for Shay that old coat hook would lead a most boring life.
Eric took a last shot and grabbed his rope. He wasn’t going to do it in here. He didn’t know when Shay would be around, although he was almost every day and Eric didn’t want his body to rot, and then the apartment to be filled with the stench of decay. Didn’t want his body fluids to leak onto the ground, puddling there until they eventually seeped through the floor, causing a mess for the people below. No. That was not the right way of it. It would only cause a lot of pain for Shay, for the tenants below, and for the landlord. And he liked all three.
Besides, the way Eric saw it, his life was his mess and why should he leave a mess for others to clean up while he was fucking up his afterlife? No real reason. That just wouldn’t be fair. And Eric was nothing if not scrumptiously fair.
Then Eric wondered, as he took his coil of rope from the top dresser drawer, and climbed out his window to the balcony, if all this was just that great rum talking, because if so that was a bloody nasty bottle of rum to make him want to commit suicide.
But no. Eric’s life was fucked up before he took to drinking that bottle of rum. Eric’s life was bloody nasty already. Eric had been planning his suicide already. But maybe he shouldn’t have decided to commit the actual act while he was drunk. Maybe he should have made that decision and then gotten drunk. He didn’t think he could commit suicide sober. He’d be too scared and then chicken shit his way out of it. And that just wouldn’t be right. Why put yourself through the trouble of putting your affairs in order just to not end up killing yourself? That wouldn’t be fair either.
He swung his legs over the fire escape ladder and slowly began descending, not wanting to slip and fall. That wouldn’t kill him… probably. Just wound him a lot. And then he’d have a whole bunch of stupid rednecks looking at him while he was all gory and in pain instead of killing him. Or calling a goddamnin ambulance. That wasn’t the way to go. Well maybe if he slipped he would fall, become all gory, have the rednecks gape at him and then he could convince one of them to shoot him in the face so he would die. But probably not. Rednecks only used their bullets on niggers anyways. Or. Sorry. Eric had to be politically correct, even in his head, even while drunk. Them right-winged nutters would gawk at him while he was all gory. Them right-winged nut jobs would only shoot Negroes. Them blackies.
He giggled and concentrated on not falling and become gory and having right-winged buggers stare at him and shoot Negroes.
Or was it having Negroes stare at him and shoot right-winged gory nut jobs? He couldn’t remember. That was a bit of a problem, because it meant he had gone off on a tangent and tangents were bad. Tangents meant that he had probably forgotten to do something important. That or he had said something stupid. He slid to the ground and dropped his coil of rope. Damn he should have thought to wear a sweater… or any stitch of clothing at all.
It was colder than a witch’s teat out. Colder than his ex had been when he found out he’d cheated on her with a boy. Colder than a nice bottle of Alexander Keith’s. Colder than his mum had been when she found out that he had dropped out of the Ivy League. Colder than his dad had been when his mum told him that he had dropped out of the Ivy League. Colder than Shay would be when he found out that Eric had killed his self.
That train of thought stopped Eric dead in his tracks. Killed his self. Well that explained the rope. And might have even explained the nakedness. And the drunkenness. And the drunkenness would explain why Eric forgot that he was going to kill himself and why he was going off on this tangents and… Woah. Slow down. Better stop that train of thought. Trains would crash hard. Like bloody… no tangents! Eric! Calm yourself!
He swayed and then followed that up with a shiver. That last shot of rum must of hit him harder than he thought it would. Did he leave a note for Shay? Eric nodded slowly, he must of done and he wasn’t going to go back upstairs to check. If he got into the warmth of his apartment he knew that he would never come back out. Especially not with the attempt of suicide looming over his head like a rain cloud. Even drunk he was a yellow belly. A great coward.
Fuck. He didn’t even remember the specific reasons for why he was killing his self. Other than the fact that he was a gay, cheating, fucktard, who was hated by his parents for reasons other than his homosexuality and that was only because they weren’t aware of it yet. But they would be. Oh damn how they would be. If he wasn’t going to kill his self. But he was. So that was the end of that.
Stupid yellow bellied rednecks. They always hated homosexuals. And Eric didn’t know why. Stupid God for writing that goddamned piece of literature that so many people called the Bible. It was all its and His fault.
Eric knew that that wasn’t exactly the right of it, but he couldn’t remember how the real reasons went anyways. Not only that but his job sucked and his parents were pissed for him quitting and bombing out of his Ivy League Preppy Hipster University where everyone was a Stuck Up Snobby Son of a Bastard.
Gosh he hated being poor and gay and a failure.
That was why he was going to kill his self. He wasn’t even sure if those were reasonable reasons or anything but he sure as hell didn’t care all that badly. Because what was important was dying. Because death meant safety? Because death was a way out, and what Eric needed was a way out.
Right?
Fuck he was freezing. Well if he didn’t stop internally debating then he would freeze to death or at the very least get hypothermia and then he’d have red winged nut jobs that shot Negroes staring at him for being a naked freak that was freezing slowly to death, and now that Eric thought about it that was so much worse then them staring at him for being gory from having fallen from a great height.
Eric sighed. Maybe killing his precious self wasn’t such a good idea. After all what about Shay? He did love Shay. And it wasn’t fair to leave the Earth without Shay. Shay was the best thing that had happened to him in a while and he didn’t want Shay to hate him in the next life because Eric committed suicide in this one and decided to take the yellow bellied way out of hardship.
Maybe he should just climb back up to his apartment, hide the rope away, take the note down, hide the empty rum bottle, put on some clothes, make a pot of coffee, piss, drink some water and call Shay. That would be what Shay would want him to do, if Shay were here, which he wasn’t. Was he?
Shay! Shay! Shay! Are you here, or is this the Shay in my mind only? Eric could swear to God that he could hear Shay’s laughter and his comforting replies, and his questions. Then all that was followed by an onslaught of worry and kisses and hugs.
Eric had a mighty headache. He sat up in bed. The covers slipped off his shirted torso. The air in the apartment was awful warm. He could smell coffee. And eggs. He slipped out of the bed and wandered into the kitchen. Where he was greeted by the best sight in the world. Shay was making eggs and smiled at him. He pointed to a cup of coffee.
Eric thought that there was only one way to wake up… and this was it. He must be in heaven. That was the only answer.
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make important life decisions while drinking… but Eric was a little to far under the bottle, and a little to far gone to be helped anyways. He was prepared for the death that awaited him.
Running a hand through his dark hair he finished writing his note to Shay, and pinned it to the backside of the door, knowing that Shay would find it there, right under the coat hook. Shay was notoriously neat and always hung up his jacket there when he came in. He was the only one that did. If it weren’t for Shay that old coat hook would lead a most boring life.
Eric took a last shot and grabbed his rope. He wasn’t going to do it in here. He didn’t know when Shay would be around, although he was almost every day and Eric didn’t want his body to rot, and then the apartment to be filled with the stench of decay. Didn’t want his body fluids to leak onto the ground, puddling there until they eventually seeped through the floor, causing a mess for the people below. No. That was not the right way of it. It would only cause a lot of pain for Shay, for the tenants below, and for the landlord. And he liked all three.
Besides, the way Eric saw it, his life was his mess and why should he leave a mess for others to clean up while he was fucking up his afterlife? No real reason. That just wouldn’t be fair. And Eric was nothing if not scrumptiously fair.
Then Eric wondered, as he took his coil of rope from the top dresser drawer, and climbed out his window to the balcony, if all this was just that great rum talking, because if so that was a bloody nasty bottle of rum to make him want to commit suicide.
But no. Eric’s life was fucked up before he took to drinking that bottle of rum. Eric’s life was bloody nasty already. Eric had been planning his suicide already. But maybe he shouldn’t have decided to commit the actual act while he was drunk. Maybe he should have made that decision and then gotten drunk. He didn’t think he could commit suicide sober. He’d be too scared and then chicken shit his way out of it. And that just wouldn’t be right. Why put yourself through the trouble of putting your affairs in order just to not end up killing yourself? That wouldn’t be fair either.
He swung his legs over the fire escape ladder and slowly began descending, not wanting to slip and fall. That wouldn’t kill him… probably. Just wound him a lot. And then he’d have a whole bunch of stupid rednecks looking at him while he was all gory and in pain instead of killing him. Or calling a goddamnin ambulance. That wasn’t the way to go. Well maybe if he slipped he would fall, become all gory, have the rednecks gape at him and then he could convince one of them to shoot him in the face so he would die. But probably not. Rednecks only used their bullets on niggers anyways. Or. Sorry. Eric had to be politically correct, even in his head, even while drunk. Them right-winged nutters would gawk at him while he was all gory. Them right-winged nut jobs would only shoot Negroes. Them blackies.
He giggled and concentrated on not falling and become gory and having right-winged buggers stare at him and shoot Negroes.
Or was it having Negroes stare at him and shoot right-winged gory nut jobs? He couldn’t remember. That was a bit of a problem, because it meant he had gone off on a tangent and tangents were bad. Tangents meant that he had probably forgotten to do something important. That or he had said something stupid. He slid to the ground and dropped his coil of rope. Damn he should have thought to wear a sweater… or any stitch of clothing at all.
It was colder than a witch’s teat out. Colder than his ex had been when he found out he’d cheated on her with a boy. Colder than a nice bottle of Alexander Keith’s. Colder than his mum had been when she found out that he had dropped out of the Ivy League. Colder than his dad had been when his mum told him that he had dropped out of the Ivy League. Colder than Shay would be when he found out that Eric had killed his self.
That train of thought stopped Eric dead in his tracks. Killed his self. Well that explained the rope. And might have even explained the nakedness. And the drunkenness. And the drunkenness would explain why Eric forgot that he was going to kill himself and why he was going off on this tangents and… Woah. Slow down. Better stop that train of thought. Trains would crash hard. Like bloody… no tangents! Eric! Calm yourself!
He swayed and then followed that up with a shiver. That last shot of rum must of hit him harder than he thought it would. Did he leave a note for Shay? Eric nodded slowly, he must of done and he wasn’t going to go back upstairs to check. If he got into the warmth of his apartment he knew that he would never come back out. Especially not with the attempt of suicide looming over his head like a rain cloud. Even drunk he was a yellow belly. A great coward.
Fuck. He didn’t even remember the specific reasons for why he was killing his self. Other than the fact that he was a gay, cheating, fucktard, who was hated by his parents for reasons other than his homosexuality and that was only because they weren’t aware of it yet. But they would be. Oh damn how they would be. If he wasn’t going to kill his self. But he was. So that was the end of that.
Stupid yellow bellied rednecks. They always hated homosexuals. And Eric didn’t know why. Stupid God for writing that goddamned piece of literature that so many people called the Bible. It was all its and His fault.
Eric knew that that wasn’t exactly the right of it, but he couldn’t remember how the real reasons went anyways. Not only that but his job sucked and his parents were pissed for him quitting and bombing out of his Ivy League Preppy Hipster University where everyone was a Stuck Up Snobby Son of a Bastard.
Gosh he hated being poor and gay and a failure.
That was why he was going to kill his self. He wasn’t even sure if those were reasonable reasons or anything but he sure as hell didn’t care all that badly. Because what was important was dying. Because death meant safety? Because death was a way out, and what Eric needed was a way out.
Right?
Fuck he was freezing. Well if he didn’t stop internally debating then he would freeze to death or at the very least get hypothermia and then he’d have red winged nut jobs that shot Negroes staring at him for being a naked freak that was freezing slowly to death, and now that Eric thought about it that was so much worse then them staring at him for being gory from having fallen from a great height.
Eric sighed. Maybe killing his precious self wasn’t such a good idea. After all what about Shay? He did love Shay. And it wasn’t fair to leave the Earth without Shay. Shay was the best thing that had happened to him in a while and he didn’t want Shay to hate him in the next life because Eric committed suicide in this one and decided to take the yellow bellied way out of hardship.
Maybe he should just climb back up to his apartment, hide the rope away, take the note down, hide the empty rum bottle, put on some clothes, make a pot of coffee, piss, drink some water and call Shay. That would be what Shay would want him to do, if Shay were here, which he wasn’t. Was he?
Shay! Shay! Shay! Are you here, or is this the Shay in my mind only? Eric could swear to God that he could hear Shay’s laughter and his comforting replies, and his questions. Then all that was followed by an onslaught of worry and kisses and hugs.
Eric had a mighty headache. He sat up in bed. The covers slipped off his shirted torso. The air in the apartment was awful warm. He could smell coffee. And eggs. He slipped out of the bed and wandered into the kitchen. Where he was greeted by the best sight in the world. Shay was making eggs and smiled at him. He pointed to a cup of coffee.
Eric thought that there was only one way to wake up… and this was it. He must be in heaven. That was the only answer.