He’d had enough, more than enough! He just wanted it to end. He looked morbidly at the pills, pills, to sleep, pills to stay awake, to offset his stress levels, pills to adjust effects of other pills. It would be easy enough, a beguiling inner voice said. But what of his family, his few remaining friends?
That’s the coward’s way out, he told himself. Whatever else he was, he was no coward! Besides he didn’t really want to die. He wanted to live. But this existence, this endless matrix he found himself in, this was not living; it was a slow and painful death. He glanced at his “prison” hanging in its immaculate plastic wrappings, the crisp lapels, expensive cut, to hide a slowly disintegrating physique. It defined who he was, restricting him to a role, (an ugly one at that).
Angrily he grasped the hanger flinging it aside. He eyed the pills. Hell no! Gathering them together he tossed them into the black steel bin beside his desk. Something stirred within, rebellion! There was no one to tell of his decision, the immaculate penthouse apartment was empty, devoid of life, but deep in his heart a flame had kindled. Ignited, it devoured the dross, enlightening his surroundings. He would live once more, and through him others.
He sipped his coffee, feet propped triumphantly on the creamy white desk veneer, as he watched the sun rise.