death

Posted on | December 13, 2009 | Comments Off

Out of the blue calls are like sparks that brighten you day for a second before fading. Depression is permanent; a black, almost heavy mist which snuffs all bright sparks like a sea of tar in which everything sinks.

‘To die, to sleep;’ is so much more than just a phrase at so many times. Death is not without its attractions- even though it offers no guarantee of peace. But there is always an ersatz serenity about it on the surface- a make-believe sort of peace, death seems like a raging black stormy sea covered by a very very thin peel of ice. But in the blackness, maybe there are answers as many as there are questions.

How many ways to go, to fall into that deep sleep to never rise again- violent, non violent, sleepy, calm and assured, prolonged and delayed, or sudden and abrupt.

Slashing the wrist veins is as good a way to go as any, if slightly messy.

But if you are dead, why be bothered with the mess.

Sit on a kitchen chair, lay your hands on the black glass dining table, and gently run the steak knife over the veins in the crook of your wrist. Watch the ruby red stream spread gently over the huge expanse of the black table that will seat thirteen, slowly and slowly covering the whole table like a mirror- as a gentle euphoria takes over with the blood loss, and a sense of rest comes in, even as the eyes begin resisting the lids’ attempts to stay open, and reflect. Or just go to sleep.

They say when you are dying your entire life flashes through in front of your eyes. Is that true of people dying by their own hands, those who commit suicide? If it is true, it is not fair. Why should a man betrayed by life have to be tormented by it even at the moment of death? It is the most cosmic sort of mockery.

And later. Is there a grievance redressal cell in hell?

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