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Fatal nights x Friedrich Nietzsche
She’s staring down from the balcony. He’s caressing the shaft of the sharpened blade. She’s standing next to the train track. He’s standing on a stool, wondering if the rope will hold.
Breaths racing, hearts pounding, shivers running down spines, doubt running through minds.
The last chance to reconsider. A final moment to avoid the irreversible.
Numerous uplifting words have been shouted, endless words of help have been uttered. But they are isolated from it all. No sound nor gesture is able to reach them.
They look up to see a ceiling or the night sky. It doesn’t matter. The outlook is grim, regardless of the view.
Is there no other way? Are there truly no other options? Has everything really been tried? Of course there is, of course there are and of course not. It’s the gap between knowing and wanting in which the weeds leading to this fatal decision have grown.
Fatigue and apathy have blurred the desire to attempt once more. Hopes and reality are too far apart. All have wished the situation to change, not life to end. However, rationality has faded over time.
I wake up and get out of bed before any thought can establish itself. Negativity gets decapitated before it’s able to stick its neck out. Acting trumping overthinking.
Coffee, brushed teeth and a splash of cold water to resuscitate. A short walk and weights lifted to align the body and mind. A hot shower followed by half a minute of icy cold water. Breakfast and more caffeine infused fuel.
I sit down and grab a pen. Words are jotted down and a videoclip that, for now, receives a negligible amount of views is uploaded to social media. After a few hours of writing I get out of the apartment. Fresh air and new faces.
I do not enjoy spending the majority of time as a recluse. But if a few years of self-chosen solitary confinement lead to liberation, the end will justify the means.
I walk through the city park, channeling my inner Nietzsche. We share our views on religion and have a significant overlap in poor health affecting everything. Here’s to hoping that his habits will lead to similar revelations, whilst circumventing his later life.
After going above and beyond contemplating the genealogy of good and evil, I return to my not so quiet writing shack. Sitting myself down, inserting earplugs, picking up the pen once more.
A tear runs down the balcony. A teardrop lands on the shaft of the blade. A tear slides down the train track. A teardrop drops down the stool.
I let my pen create anarchy on the paper. A trail of ink full of ambition and catharsis takes shape. I am determined to avert a depressing fate.
A free fall, a body hits the floor. A painful cut, veins opened, blood runs freely. A fast train nears, a step forward, emergency brakes hit too late. The stool tumbles, a human being hangs, going out swinging.
I tear a page from the notebook, throw it in the garbage bin and start again. Maybe too late for those leaving today, hoping to reach those that have decided to depart tomorrow.
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