Wide Awake

Disclaimer: No, I'm not mentally disturbed or suicidal. I just wrote this as an exercise in feeling such feelings. And as a wake up call to really live life. I've found that, like Poe, I find some of the most beautiful things to be the most melancholy. This story is an example.

The young man stepped from the balcony. 30 stories up, the drop looked exhilirating. Not that the man would ever consider actually jumping. But the possibility, the possibility was thrilling.

And this man lived through possibility. He sipped it in, swirled it on his palate, and savored every minute of it. There was the possibilty that the beautiful young woman that lived accross the hall might meet him one day and fall in love. There was the possibility that his boss would promote him to that position that he has been owed since he joined the company. And most of all, there is that possibilty that he might someday wake up to find passion in his life.

But not tonight. Tonight the possibilities are dry. He finds none. As he sits down at his kitchen table, pills in hand, the only possibility he can see is death. To end the buzzing thoughts in his head, to end the possibilites that never seem to come true, the man conisders the ultimate possibility. Death.

And ten minutes later, instead of finding himself in the arms of a women he loves, or atop a tall mountain he'd love to climb, he's curled up in a ball on the cold white kitchen floor. Dead.