The Five Stages of Suicidal StrangersA Story by Brittany
“So how long have you been suicidal?” The question cut through the cold and dark night. I looked at him, questioningly, and his eyes hooked my own right in their sockets. Suicidal?
He came closer to me. A step, maybe two. My right foot jerked back, my left forward. It was like I wanted to get away from him because I could tell he was nosy. Who in their right mind would have this be a first conversation with someone unless their intention was to completely consume said person? Still, a part of me felt the draw to him, and enjoyed it, slightly. Even already. Already I was letting myself be consumed.
“I asked about how long you have been suicidal for,” He repeated. No differently, and completely even.
I took a drag on my cigarette and tried to match my stare to his own, knowing I failed completely. “I don’t know where you get off on asking strangers about suicide, but I can assure you I’m not suicidal.”
He smirked, stepped closer, and mirrored me by inhaling on his own cigarette. The cold night air grew alive for just a moment between the two of us with both smoke and hot breath. “Don’t get hostile now. Anger is the second stage of grief and since you’ve already tackled denial pretty head-on, maybe you should slow down on them. You’re not dead yet, there’s no need for the five stages of grief yet.”
“Five stages of grief, dead, denial, hostile,” I sputtered, inhaling angrily. “What in the hell are you blabbering on about?” I exploded. Don’t get hostile, my a*s.
He just smiled and laughed an airy laugh that seemed to instantaneously deflate any and all anger within me. “Just because you’re not staring down a gun or throwing your head in an oven or cutting rivers into your wrists doesn’t mean you’re not suicidal,” He explained as if it was elementary. He stepped closer to me, took another drag. At this point I could taste his own cigarette in my mouth as he exhaled. “You’re suicidal, I’m suicidal. Most people nowadays are walking suicides. Some on several accounts. I can tell you that I myself took almost ten ways of suicide today.” He waved his cigarette in the air in front of me. “This being one of them.”
He inhaled again. “So, let me ask you again: How long have you been suicidal?”
I looked at my own cigarette and then to his face. It was set in wonder, generally curious about how, after all of that I was going to answer him. I smirked a smirked the devil would envy and wish to call his own, finally seeing this stranger’s game and deciding to call it my own. “I’ve been killing myself since the day I was born.”
© 2011 Brittany
Added on September 28, 2011
Last Updated on September 28, 2011
AboutI paint so much with pigments, that every now and then I need to paint with words. more..