ihavebeenfloated

He finally ran out of gas. Without looking at where he was going, he knows he finally reached his destination. He packs a backpack with the few things he’ll need: a bottle of water, a coil of nylon rope, and a serrated blade. He throws it across his back, sorting his arms through the loops, and starts off in a direction.

He walks for hours, the cold wind flushing his cheeks a bright red. He reaches a tree adequate for his purposes, and looks up at it. He struggles with himself, not knowing if he should cry or not, but unable to push the tears out once a decision is made. He unpacks his bag, slips the knife into his right pant pocket, and climbs the tree with the coil of rope threaded through his belt.

He shimmies out onto a branch large enough to support his weight. He unwraps the rope and wraps it several times around the branch, making multiple knots in the process. He never really learned how to make a proper knot for any purpose, so he tries many kinds.

He straddles the branch for several minutes, staring up and trying to make out patterns in the bits of stars he can see. While tying up a loop in the other end of the rope, he thinks about everything he will be leaving behind. Everything that moved him here comes flooding in, and more sure of himself than ever he slides the loop over his head and around his neck.

He thinks, for a minute, of nothing. He braces himself, and tightens his neck for the fall. He slides himself off, scraping his elbow in the process. He thinks, holy shit, as the rope tightens around his neck and his body is thrashed about like a rag doll. The pressure is immense and he never quite thought about what that final drop would be like until now.

He is hanging there, choking. He tries to swallow but fails. He can’t breathe. For him, this is becoming a most unendurable experience, but his will his strong. He starts to think about everything he’s going to leave behind. Everything that he will not get to do. He forgets about what led him here. He envisions himself reaching for the knife in his pocket and cutting himself free, living life with renewed vigor. That’s what he brought the knife for anyway.

He reaches for the knife in his pocket. He’s starting to feel dizzy, and his neck is hurting pretty badly, but he concentrates. He pulls the knife out with his right hand, left hand struggling to move over and unfold the blade. His right hand twitches before his left can get a hold on it. The blade slips from his grip and he looks down to spot it disappearing into the leaves below.

Frantically now, he summons the last bit of strength in his arms, reaching up to grasp the rope above him. He can’t get a handle on it, his fingers sliding uselessly over the material. He can’t concentrate on it, everything is spinning.

He watches his hands lose the battle. He see his arms fall uselessly to his sides. He watches his body twitch spasmodically before falling limp in front of him. He looks to his right, the night sky stretching out before him. He looks to his left, more of the same. Forward, the branches of a tree, his body hanging from one of them so particularly.

He thought the end would be something like this. He also had some sort of idea about what would happen next, but he hoped he was wrong. He moves himself down until he’s only about an inch above the ground. He can see his backpack leaning up against the tree.

To his right, a male voice injects, “You’ve done a bad thing.”

He turns, and looks at the hazy figure. It’s obviously a person, but consumed in a swirling haze that obscures all details. He knows speaking is pointless, but he says, “I know,” regardless.

The man continues, “You know what happens next, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he replies. After that, closing his eyes would be needless indulgence, since the world drains away in a similar manner anyway.

Five hundred miles away from there, Janeane Leigh Haysbert is born to proud parents Laurie Anne and Douglas Vann Haysbert. She will grow up, living a normal childhood. During college one of her closest friends will kill themselves for what appears to be no reason at all. She will be deeply moved by this, unable to comprehend why, but continue on anyway. Late in life, after a failed marriage, she will try to kill herself with sleeping pills. She’ll wake up in the hospital, her two children sitting by her bed, and continue living from that day on as if nothing happened, despite the fact that no one will let her forget that something did.