I was just sitting there. In my bedroom. All alone. A thought entered my head. Is there enough pills in this one bottle to kill me? I pondered my thought as I thought about counting the pills. I started to count the pills, tipping them out of a little jar all over my oak desk almost defacing it. One pill, two pills. I counted as I thought some more. Four pills. Is there an easier way to kill myself? I was sure there wasn't. Nine pills. I was almost positive I had enough pills to end it all but I still continued to count, looking around my bedroom, trying to absorb some sort of mental picture to take with me to the other side.
On my desk, along with the crowd of pills, sat a Toshiba laptop and I thought, is this the reason I'm killing myself. No, I decided. That would be insane, or would it? I killed the thought but that didn't make my home computer any less disappointing. That was all that was on my desk. Along with my pills, 40 pills in total, as far as I have counted.
The pills go on and on. I continued to count them. It never ended. Never. The. Pills. Kept. Coming.
I Looked around my room. Bare, stripped to the absolute minimum. A frame with a painting of Jesus in it watched me and scared me and made me want to kill myself even more. Would he approve of it, I thought. I decided he most likely would approve of it because I approve of it and Jesus is supposed to support me. Jesus glanced at me, his eyes lit up red and fire came out, blazing my empty room but the pills still kept going on. Sixty pills, not including the fifty I had already swallowed.
I never used to like pills, I thought as I stared at the four walls in my bedroom. I wondered if Jesus liked pills, I wonder if he ever got high with Judas. I dismiss the thought because I just assumed that everyone else assumed that Judas was high anyway. Who else would turn in Jesus Christ? I asked myself.
There was a bible on my desk too, next to my Toshiba laptop. I know I said that there was nothing else on my desk but I was lying because there was actually quite a lot on my desk. I mean they were all pills, mountains of them in fact. 233 Pills. I wondered what to do with them all whilst I swallowed 300 more and killed myself. I actually didn't kill myself but I was planning too. I just needed more pills.
The Jesus painting on the wall came down of the wall, out of his frame, almost as if he was real even though he was real so it couldn't be as if he was real, I thought to myself. He told me to swallow all of the pills but I told him there was no point, there is not enough pills on my desk yet. He agreed and went back to his frame. I thanked his dad because I was becoming freaked out. 566 pills not including the 88 sausages I had for breakfast.
There was also some water on my desk. A lot of water. Probably 100 litres. No. More than 100 litres. It was closer to 100 centimetres. 1300 pills and not including the 350 bottles of cyanide I had last week at the pill festival.
The pills stop and I decide there is enough. I count them again just to be sure. There are 2 million and 3 hundred and 76 thousand pills. I have 700 kilograms of water so I begin to mix them together and then I dive in as the Jesus painting holds my hair back as the pills try to regurgitate themselves as I foam around the mouth as I have rabies and I fall down. No pills remain from the desk. No water remains from the desk. Jesus remains on the desk. Jesus remains on the desk laughing at me whilst he tells me to lay off the heroin but I don't hear him because I am dead with a needle hanging from my neck.