It is the same everyday. I get up and get ready for work. I get on the bus, which drops me off nearly ten blocks from my work. Just so I can get to work and get stuffed in a cubicle all day. I then get the glory of doing the same thing on the way home. I have found, except for the occasionally bumming of a cigarette, no one will speak to me throughout my travels. This is continuous day in and day out. Each night, after taking my shower and watching a couple of hours of television, I go to bed wondering what I accomplished this day. Each night I get to sleep with the knowing that I made no difference at all. I did not affect anyone at all.
Through all the sadness and self-pity I felt, I came up with a brilliant idea...SUICIDE!
I believe that everyone has a purpose, well, I did. So tomorrow I will test it and tonight I write this final note; one, I believe, will be my last.
Tomorrow, I will awaken like I always do.
I will get ready like I always do.
I will ride the bus like I always do.
I will walk to work like I always do.
If at that time not one person has given me a pleasant greeting, then I will pull the gun from the inside of my coat pocket, place it to my head, and pull the trigger.
When the police search my apartment, they will find this note. I only hope this somehow gets to the media. I want society to see what it has done to me and what despair it has created.
Signed: Not Important
I can't believe that I am here writing. My total intention today was that I would kill myself. Because I am here appending to my “last” note, “last” I now say loosely, is proof that everyone does have a purpose. I found mine today in a very sad and tragic way. I started my day a little different than usual. Due to the amount of stress I put on myself about what was going to happen this day, I could not sleep. I had awakened an hour earlier than usual and started my day. Since I had the extra time this morning, I had decided to have a large breakfast. Why not, it was my last meal. Normally, my breakfast consisted of two cups of coffee and a strawberry pop tart, breakfast of champions. I rose from my table and went to the sink to wash my dishes, which I didn't do, after all, why. I noticed a ray of sunlight peeking through the curtain of my kitchen window. I headed for this beam of light mesmerized, much like a mosquito would fly straight into a bug zapper, noticing, for the first time in a very long time, how beautiful a day it was. Shaking my head no, I went into the living room and retrieved my gun from the drawer of my television stand. Placing the .38 pistol into my coat jacket, I quickly went out the door not even bothering to lock it.
The wait at the bus stop was uneventful, but I do remember feeling the heat from the sun. It seemed extremely warm today. I have been told that suicide is the one unforgivable sin. I started to wonder if all this noticing and feeling of the sun today was the devil's way of letting me know I am going to hell soon, or maybe it is God trying to send me a warning. Either way, neither of them had helped or even noticed me until now.
“My mind is made up and I am going to go through with this,” I said aloud.
Getting off the bus I started my final walk of judgement to my work place, that is, soon to be last work place. At this point, I put my hand on the gun and was feeling a hot sensation pulse through my body, a feeling I remember I got when Johnny Baker pulled down my swimming trunks at the public swimming pool right in front of Amy Jorgenson back in fifth grade. The compilation of anger and embarrassment that overwhelmed me way back then is still, apparently, within me. I decided that the time had come and I stopped, looked around and started to pull out the weapon of my destruction just as I noticed someone approaching. Deep in the back of my mind I heard a single word that echoed to my lips and caused a light whisper, “please.”
As he walked to me, I looked in to his eyes. They looked very familiar but I could not figure out why, until now. His loneliness, which he must have felt he kept inside, was radiating about him. His eyes looked to me begging me to say something but I kept my ground. I was not going to give in, not now.
We passed and he said nothing. It seemed that he had sealed my fate, and there was more truth to that than I could imagine at that time. My fingers grasped around the handle of the .38 pistol inside my jacket. Slowly, I pulled it from my coat and POP!
I jumped by the sound of the gun going off, the sound vibrating my eardrum to the point of pain. I reeled around to see a man, the one that just passed me, lying on the ground, the gun smoking in his hand. His blood was staining the pavement a dark red.
I stood there in shock. Looking at him…or …me.
I guess I was not alone. What I thought was a brilliant idea was in actuality an idea shared.
That is when the guilt started. With the understanding of what happened came the realization that my smile, my wave, or my simple “Hello” could have saved a life.
I now realize my purpose is to be the ONE that smiles and greets people as they pass. To be the brightness in an ever darkening world of hurry and “why me”. This is a battle that no “I” can win, but unified, the “WE can.
We are, and always have been, the soldiers against loneliness. This is not truly about the “I” and the title will be changed to reflect that. It will now be called “WE”.
Signed: Harris Burkeheimer
