Heat

Life isn't good enough to live, and it's not bad enough to die, but I don't do either of those well.

I tried killing myself one sweltering summer day.

The A/C was broken, it was hot, and moving just made everything hotter. There was nothing to do, nothing that didn't make me feel like I was about to evaporate at any moment. For that reason, I decided to kill myself. The world was dull, the day was hot, and my mind was set.

Pills were for wimps, and slitting was too emo. A gun, maybe? Too messy. Wasn't there something else, something that wasn't so boring? Hanging? It wasn't the best, but it was easy... And maybe I could decorate the rope with glitter or something.

I sat up from my position on the floor of my room. The ceiling fan was straight above me, rotating slowly and only managing to stir hot air around the room. I could hang rope from there, and...

The rope was in the shed, I remembered. In the shed, where I would have to go out the door, take far too many steps across the grass, with the sun burning the skin right off my back, until I finally entered the shade of the shed... and then go through it all again going back.

I flopped back down to the ground. It was too hot to move.