Journal leeum's Journal: Idea for a short story 1
Some days ago, I was aroused prematurely from my sleep by a phone call. After scrabbling around for the phone and trying to sound coherent talking to the other person on the other end of the line, I got a flash of inspiration for a short story and wrote a page or so. It's an idea that I need to work on but, until I find the same type of inspiration once again, I don't think I'll flesh it out yet. Might as well put it down anyway and see if anyone could throw me a spare meme or two to get the old brain working.
The piercing ring of the phone quickly aroused Jack from his fitful sleep. He cursed silently under his breath, as he had been having a particularly inspiring dream. On concluding the brief conversation, the urge suddenly hit him with all its usual force. This would be the day he would kill himself.
The desire to off himself wasn't new to Jack. He'd had this feeling many times before, more often than he could count. Most of the time, it would come and go - teasing his mind with the possibility but never actually taking a firm hold of his senses. However, this time his half-asleep brain considered it longer than more often and toyed with the fantasy.
Jack was a genius in many senses of the word. He breezed through the formalities of education, and was highly talented in the arts and sport; yet had always been branded an underachiever. Certainly not lacking in talent, his flaw in this respect was his ever-searching mind. The physical world holds many charms, but the trouble with it was its overarching familiarity and predictability - even novel situations could be extrapolated to some degree of accuracy based on prior experiences.
He'd tried drugs before, of course. Cocaine and heroin were amusing distractions, but he was never too excited about the high they produced. There was something visceral, even sexual, about them which appealed to a more primal aspect of his physiology but the feeling was fleeting and they posed no higher questions; just a feeling of desire for more. Sex was good too but the high he got in the two or three seconds after ejaculating wasn't quite worth it. Sometimes, this callous cynic just wanted to cuddle.
Not all drugs were anathema to Jack, though. He had had a life-changing experience with dissociatives and hallucinogens. Ketamine was fantastic, as was marijuana in high doses. He loved the strange vistas that opened up in his mind, with its colourful morphing landscapes and fleeting figures that he felt he could reach out and touch, but would always flit and dart away just out of reach. There was a depth to these worlds that could not be described in real world terms, and he loved exploring the universes of his mind even though his logical brain was telling him these were only images created in his drug-addled state.
"I'm getting off topic", he thought as he tossed and turned in his bed, reminiscing past experiences. He considered death again, and it still appealed to him. He toyed around with the idea of suffocating himself, overdosing on pills or leaping off a tall building but none of these methods appealed to him. While they certainly are painless (Jack did not like pain), they lacked drama. Jack viewed death as a transformation, from a known state (life) to an unknown state (being dead) and an answer to all the philosophical questions about it. "You could theorise endlessly about what happens after you die, but you won't know until you actually do it", he reasoned. He also considered it as a transformation in the people around him and knew that his death would affect them in different ways. Lovers, friends, family would probably miss him to varying degrees, but he wondered how long it would be until he was forgotten. Would they be upset? Would they feel cheated? Would they blame him for being selfish by leaving them? Or would they share in his sense of wonder and consider the same questions about life and death as he did? If he could observe or interact with the world of the living after death, he certainly would like to do a study on their reactions.
Jack sweared under his breath. It was happening again - every time he thought of killing himself, his mind wandered and the urge would go away. Fortunately, not this time. He thought about how he was going to do it and decided he was going to call a few friends around for dinner. No drama, no suicide notes, nothing. A few glasses of port, some good conversation, and a bullet in the head while they were making small talk. It should come out of the blue when everyone least expected it.
He looked out of the window. Glorious weather. Perfect.
Promising story (Score:2)