The Hanged Man
I give up. I don't want to try anymore. You win. You were right. It's useless.
The thoughts cycled through his fevered mind as he wove his way through the evening crowd.
I must look a wreck.
Clenching his jaw, he blinked away his tears, striving to maintain a facade of composure.
I must look a wreck.
Digging his nails into his sweaty palms, he willed himself into stillness.
He wanted to scream. He had fled the office, his legs a flurry as he strove to reach home as fast as he could, without breaking into an unseemly, frenzied run.
Yes. Home. End it.
Visions flashed him. The woven rope lying hidden beneath the boxes of knick knacks. The rope he had failed to use, 6 years ago. The ledge of the 24th floor. The dizzying view of the estate loomed in his mind's eye, a panorama he would see whenever rain drove him to climb the stairs instead of his usual run in the park. Vertigo shot through him momentarily, and he shuddered as he envisioned himself hurtling through the air, the ground racing to meet him. Flesh and bone. Concrete and steel. Bloody contact.
Home. Your final journey home.
Traffic slowed to a crawl on the expressway. He fidgeted, a caged animal, trapped in a double decker bus.
Help me.
Dare he chance it? He had reached out, a plaintive call, and was rebuffed with a single word.
Siao.
Dare he chance it? The SMS, poised for sending, was a click away. Steeling himself, he made his final attempt for outside aid.
[Help. I really really need help.
Before I do something foolish and permanent. Help]
He will laugh at you! He will reject you! He has done it before! He will do it again! Stupid fool! It's futile! And you know it!
The phone lay silent throughout the journey. Hope flickered, and the last vestiges of his resistance died away.
The apartment block loomed into view. He was home.
Silence. Blessed silence.
He had locked himself in the room. He took the dreamcatcher down from its hook. There were no more nightmares to guard after this night.
End it. Hang yourself. End it once and for all.
He couldn't remember where he kept the rope. The 12m telephone cable sprang to mind. Round and round, he wove the the cable through the ceiling hook.
Embrace it. And rest.
The noose was ready. All he had to do was put his head through it, and step off the chair. He glanced at his non-responding mobile.
I told you. He will not answer. He will think you're crying wolf.
He felt the cable pressed against his unprotected neck. Even at this tentative rehearsal, he could feel the terrifying choking potential of the looped cable. Hesitation shot through him. The phone flashed.
Look upon it. And despair. Read it, and feel your hopes wither to dust.
His cry for help was answered.
[You OK?]
A shudder ran through him as he broke into a humourless laugh.
No, you are not OK. How patronising.
Leaving the SMS unanswered, he climbed back onto the chair. Visions flashed past him. Visions of his failure, visions of his cowardice, visions of his helplessness, visions of his utterly, pathetic attempts at being. Visions that flayed him. Visions that drove him ever nearer to the noose.
He gagged. He felt himself gasp for breath as the cable seized his throat. Panic shook his resolve to die. His resolve wavered as he hovered dangerously at the edge of the chair. One more step, and the noose would break his neck. The noose tightened its stranglehold. Out of instinct, borne of one last desperate attempt against the choking despair, a voice rang clear through the fog of hopelessness.
Live! For better, or for worse, LIVE!
He backed away. The clutches of the telephone cable still fresh against his skin as he removed himself from the noose. The insistent voice slinked away into the recesses of his mind, its sibilant whispers having lost its insidious hold. He collapsed onto the chair. The phone rang.
"Hello, you ok?"
Drained, tired, and utterly lost, he finally broke down, into pained, wracking sobs.
The thoughts cycled through his fevered mind as he wove his way through the evening crowd.
I must look a wreck.
Clenching his jaw, he blinked away his tears, striving to maintain a facade of composure.
I must look a wreck.
Digging his nails into his sweaty palms, he willed himself into stillness.
He wanted to scream. He had fled the office, his legs a flurry as he strove to reach home as fast as he could, without breaking into an unseemly, frenzied run.
Yes. Home. End it.
Visions flashed him. The woven rope lying hidden beneath the boxes of knick knacks. The rope he had failed to use, 6 years ago. The ledge of the 24th floor. The dizzying view of the estate loomed in his mind's eye, a panorama he would see whenever rain drove him to climb the stairs instead of his usual run in the park. Vertigo shot through him momentarily, and he shuddered as he envisioned himself hurtling through the air, the ground racing to meet him. Flesh and bone. Concrete and steel. Bloody contact.
Home. Your final journey home.
Traffic slowed to a crawl on the expressway. He fidgeted, a caged animal, trapped in a double decker bus.
Help me.
Dare he chance it? He had reached out, a plaintive call, and was rebuffed with a single word.
Siao.
Dare he chance it? The SMS, poised for sending, was a click away. Steeling himself, he made his final attempt for outside aid.
[Help. I really really need help.
Before I do something foolish and permanent. Help]
He will laugh at you! He will reject you! He has done it before! He will do it again! Stupid fool! It's futile! And you know it!
The phone lay silent throughout the journey. Hope flickered, and the last vestiges of his resistance died away.
The apartment block loomed into view. He was home.
Silence. Blessed silence.
He had locked himself in the room. He took the dreamcatcher down from its hook. There were no more nightmares to guard after this night.
End it. Hang yourself. End it once and for all.
He couldn't remember where he kept the rope. The 12m telephone cable sprang to mind. Round and round, he wove the the cable through the ceiling hook.
Embrace it. And rest.
The noose was ready. All he had to do was put his head through it, and step off the chair. He glanced at his non-responding mobile.
I told you. He will not answer. He will think you're crying wolf.
He felt the cable pressed against his unprotected neck. Even at this tentative rehearsal, he could feel the terrifying choking potential of the looped cable. Hesitation shot through him. The phone flashed.
Look upon it. And despair. Read it, and feel your hopes wither to dust.
His cry for help was answered.
[You OK?]
A shudder ran through him as he broke into a humourless laugh.
No, you are not OK. How patronising.
Leaving the SMS unanswered, he climbed back onto the chair. Visions flashed past him. Visions of his failure, visions of his cowardice, visions of his helplessness, visions of his utterly, pathetic attempts at being. Visions that flayed him. Visions that drove him ever nearer to the noose.
He gagged. He felt himself gasp for breath as the cable seized his throat. Panic shook his resolve to die. His resolve wavered as he hovered dangerously at the edge of the chair. One more step, and the noose would break his neck. The noose tightened its stranglehold. Out of instinct, borne of one last desperate attempt against the choking despair, a voice rang clear through the fog of hopelessness.
Live! For better, or for worse, LIVE!
He backed away. The clutches of the telephone cable still fresh against his skin as he removed himself from the noose. The insistent voice slinked away into the recesses of his mind, its sibilant whispers having lost its insidious hold. He collapsed onto the chair. The phone rang.
"Hello, you ok?"
Drained, tired, and utterly lost, he finally broke down, into pained, wracking sobs.