i got creative again
If I find this story somewhere without crediting me I shall let my dogs hount you and torture you. Are you really willing to see the rage of arwen_of_lorien, insanegypsy, posh_trash, archeuphoria and many others? You bet they would make your life living hell =p
He was running. Like every day, he had his running tour. As he run it seemed like he run away from his life, like he wanted to leave it all behind, forget about it, to hide and let it pass him cause it seemed he had no strength to out run it. He seemed to be afraid to look back, like if it was some monster behind him, chasing him, trying to grab him for his back, and rip him apart. Every day he was running until he couldn’t run anymore, until his muscles were exploding with pain, until his blood was boiling inside of him and his lungs hurt him so much he couldn’t breathe; and then, he run some more. Every day he wanted to run until his heart stops beating. But he couldn’t. Day after day he would fall down on the street, lie down for a while and then continue to run again until he would come home. He just needed to feel the pain, to feel the adrenaline to know, to see that he is still alive and breathing. He didn’t want it, but he needed it, and he wouldn’t stop until he would feel something, some glimpse of satisfaction of being alive.
Is he coward, he asked himself so many times? Here he was, in his late 20is, looking better than ever, fit and handsome, no sign of his hair falling off like with all his friends, tanned skin, dark brown hair, dark, mystery eyes. He had it all. Woman would just turn his head when he was walking by in his suit and with his tie and briefcase, all dressed up going to his work in a mayor company. He had money, he had looks, he had everything, and yet he felt like he had nothing. He even had beautiful wife that everyone envied him for. But still there was nothing. He couldn’t feel the life, and that was his curse.
Here he was, in his office in the building that screamed at everyone with its success and elitism. He used to love his work, used to feel complete while he was working, but now, it was all empty. It was like he was this kid that has overgrown his favorite toy and is never playing with it anymore. He was looking at the walls full of diplomas feeling like he has become something he feared to become, something he didn’t wanted to become.
He stood by the window. The view was great. From here he could see almost whole city. He looked down. People that were walking looked so little, like little ants working for their queen. All in a hurry to please their bosses, to please their greed for money, to please their hunger, they were almost running to their finish line. Where was humanity going? He didn’t know. He only knew that he didn’t like where he was going. Maybe he could quit his job, find something else to do in life. Maybe change would make him feel something.
Sometimes he fantasized how it would be if the window would break while he was standing there and he would fall through it and die on the side walk. People would stop their walks for a brief moment, look at his broken body and then continue with their daily routine. Nothing would change because he would still not feel anything. But at that glimpse of the moment before he would hit the ground he would have to feel something. People who had near death experience say that they saw their whole life passing them by in a brief second before they saw the bright tunnel. He never thought much about their words, but lately he would often think about them and smile.
He could’ve seen himself falling through the window, caught in the cage of broken glass that was flying next to him, waving his hands and legs, screaming as he was getting closer to the ground and then BAM, his body would smash into the ground, people would scream, the blood would be everywhere, and he would be dead. How would that felt? What would he think in the moment that he was falling down? He couldn’t say.
Maybe he could try and see? He smiled. Maybe he could. He looked at the pile of paper on his desk, ready for him to go through them like he was every day; a job that almost everyone could do. He wouldn’t be missed in his company; they would replace him in a matter of days if not hours. His wife would cry for some time but then she would replace him as well. That is the world. You are not needed. You can be replaced. One man does not do any difference in the raging river of life. Maybe he could, was the thought that was making its route in his brain.
He sat at his table and called his wife. He told her he won’t be coming to dinner. Then he took off his shoes and tie and put them on the sofa that was in the right corner of the office. He locked the doors and told his secretary to hold all the calls. He smoked one last cigarette, took everything down of his table and was ready. He pushed the table through the window. Luckily the table had the wheels and it was easy to push. The glass has broken. He never thought it would be so loud. Broken pieces of the glass were shining on the sun. The table went through the window and over the edge falling down. He just fell right behind the table. While he was falling down, getting closer and closer to the ground and people who were going their ways, he thought about nothing, he saw nothing, he fell nothing. He didn’t even scream. And then he hit the ground. Darkness. Nothing.
He thought he will feel something; fear, happiness, sadness, paranoia, love, hate, anything. But he didn’t. The world hasn’t changed. He was just another corpse on the sidewalk. Nothing new; not the first one, not the last one. The world continued to rotate the same way. His suicide was a failure.
29. 08. 2004. Marin Zrile
He was running. Like every day, he had his running tour. As he run it seemed like he run away from his life, like he wanted to leave it all behind, forget about it, to hide and let it pass him cause it seemed he had no strength to out run it. He seemed to be afraid to look back, like if it was some monster behind him, chasing him, trying to grab him for his back, and rip him apart. Every day he was running until he couldn’t run anymore, until his muscles were exploding with pain, until his blood was boiling inside of him and his lungs hurt him so much he couldn’t breathe; and then, he run some more. Every day he wanted to run until his heart stops beating. But he couldn’t. Day after day he would fall down on the street, lie down for a while and then continue to run again until he would come home. He just needed to feel the pain, to feel the adrenaline to know, to see that he is still alive and breathing. He didn’t want it, but he needed it, and he wouldn’t stop until he would feel something, some glimpse of satisfaction of being alive.
Is he coward, he asked himself so many times? Here he was, in his late 20is, looking better than ever, fit and handsome, no sign of his hair falling off like with all his friends, tanned skin, dark brown hair, dark, mystery eyes. He had it all. Woman would just turn his head when he was walking by in his suit and with his tie and briefcase, all dressed up going to his work in a mayor company. He had money, he had looks, he had everything, and yet he felt like he had nothing. He even had beautiful wife that everyone envied him for. But still there was nothing. He couldn’t feel the life, and that was his curse.
Here he was, in his office in the building that screamed at everyone with its success and elitism. He used to love his work, used to feel complete while he was working, but now, it was all empty. It was like he was this kid that has overgrown his favorite toy and is never playing with it anymore. He was looking at the walls full of diplomas feeling like he has become something he feared to become, something he didn’t wanted to become.
He stood by the window. The view was great. From here he could see almost whole city. He looked down. People that were walking looked so little, like little ants working for their queen. All in a hurry to please their bosses, to please their greed for money, to please their hunger, they were almost running to their finish line. Where was humanity going? He didn’t know. He only knew that he didn’t like where he was going. Maybe he could quit his job, find something else to do in life. Maybe change would make him feel something.
Sometimes he fantasized how it would be if the window would break while he was standing there and he would fall through it and die on the side walk. People would stop their walks for a brief moment, look at his broken body and then continue with their daily routine. Nothing would change because he would still not feel anything. But at that glimpse of the moment before he would hit the ground he would have to feel something. People who had near death experience say that they saw their whole life passing them by in a brief second before they saw the bright tunnel. He never thought much about their words, but lately he would often think about them and smile.
He could’ve seen himself falling through the window, caught in the cage of broken glass that was flying next to him, waving his hands and legs, screaming as he was getting closer to the ground and then BAM, his body would smash into the ground, people would scream, the blood would be everywhere, and he would be dead. How would that felt? What would he think in the moment that he was falling down? He couldn’t say.
Maybe he could try and see? He smiled. Maybe he could. He looked at the pile of paper on his desk, ready for him to go through them like he was every day; a job that almost everyone could do. He wouldn’t be missed in his company; they would replace him in a matter of days if not hours. His wife would cry for some time but then she would replace him as well. That is the world. You are not needed. You can be replaced. One man does not do any difference in the raging river of life. Maybe he could, was the thought that was making its route in his brain.
He sat at his table and called his wife. He told her he won’t be coming to dinner. Then he took off his shoes and tie and put them on the sofa that was in the right corner of the office. He locked the doors and told his secretary to hold all the calls. He smoked one last cigarette, took everything down of his table and was ready. He pushed the table through the window. Luckily the table had the wheels and it was easy to push. The glass has broken. He never thought it would be so loud. Broken pieces of the glass were shining on the sun. The table went through the window and over the edge falling down. He just fell right behind the table. While he was falling down, getting closer and closer to the ground and people who were going their ways, he thought about nothing, he saw nothing, he fell nothing. He didn’t even scream. And then he hit the ground. Darkness. Nothing.
He thought he will feel something; fear, happiness, sadness, paranoia, love, hate, anything. But he didn’t. The world hasn’t changed. He was just another corpse on the sidewalk. Nothing new; not the first one, not the last one. The world continued to rotate the same way. His suicide was a failure.
29. 08. 2004. Marin Zrile