Suicide Song-a (very) short story

The Tourist · Sep 17, 2006

Hey. 
I have posted short stories here before and recieved a lot of feedback. So I'm giving it a shot again. Please let me know what you think. Any opinions at all are truly appreciated. Oh, and if you're really religious this story might offend you. That isn't my intent, though, so relax. It's just a story. THANK YOU!!! 
-apparently I'm going to have to do this in two posts... 
Suicide Song-Christine Parsons 
I place the CD in the slot of my CD player. I push it in. I push play. Music pours from the surround sound speakers and spills all over the room. First verse, chorus, second verse, blah blah blah. ****. This isnt it. I skip to song number two. The walls of my shabby apartment vibrate with the noise from the speakers causing some of the chipped paint to fall to the floor. First verse, chorus, second verse, blah blah blah. This isnt it either. I skip to song number three. Its just like the first two songs. Blah blah blah. Eject. 
\tThis is my life. 
\tEdward says Im an old soul. That goes along the lines of reincarnation. It means Ive been reincarnated over and over because in each life I cant seem to get it right so I dont get to go on to eternity. Instead, Im reincarnated on earth. Edward says being an old soul makes me wise. I say it makes me the eternal **** up. 
\tI boil some water to make dinner. Or lunch. Whatever. Most times, I forget to eat at all. I open my almost empty cabinet and pull out a bag of Top Ramen. The plastic is all dusty. I wonder how long its been up there. 
\tEdward says I could be something if I applied myself. All I really need is an education. 
\tI break up the noodles and put them in the boiling water. I sit down at my little makeshift table consisting of a piece of wood held up by two crates. I sit on the floor, and its wet. I dont care. 
\tEdward says that Im too young to be a full time janitor. He says being a janitor is for dried up old men like him whove missed out on their opportunities for bigger and better things. Me, Im only twenty-two. I could do so much. 
\tI hear the water boiling over. I get a bowl so I can eat my dusty noodles. Jesus, what I do to sustain existence. 
\tI take another CD from the plastic shopping bag. I struggle with the wrapper and the annoying sticker on the top. I push it into my CD player. I push play. ThisI like. But it isnt it. Too much electric guitar. Eject. I go to bed. 
\tMonday night, and Im off to work. I only work nights. Monday thru Friday. I work with Edward. Im a janitor. It doesnt matter. 
\tEdward greets me with a kind of army salute thing, where you put your hand sideways on your forehead, and then push it out. He calls me Captain. I dont know where he gets this ****. 
\tI sweep. I mop. I empty trash cans. I put fresh bags in them. I smoke. And I talk to Edward. He seems chipper. 
\tEdward tells me that Im squandering my life. The wrinkles and cracks in his seventy something year old face look dusty. Like if I punched him in the face dust would disperse everywhere same as when you clap two chalky erasers together. Edward tells me I shouldnt smoke. 
\tYou know how sometimes people ask you things like If you were trapped on a desert island and you could only bring one person or If you were going to die tomorrow what would you do today. Well thats what Ive based my entire life on-a question like that. Except my question is If you could die listening to just one song, what song would you die to. 
\tI sweep more. I mop. I empty trash cans. I put fresh bags in them. Im out of cigarettes. 
\tTuesday morning, or afternoon. Whatever. I go into my closet with a toilet. This thing doesnt even qualify as a bathroom. I dont care. My hair feels too long so I take a pair of scissors from the countertop and I cut it. Theres no mirror so I just guess. I dont care. 
\tI walk down to Mickeys CDs Store. No new releases. No old releases. Nothing I havent heard. ****. At this rate, Im going to live forever. 
\tEdward used to tell me stories about his wife, about his kids, about his dog. I used to act like I cared, too. He even once asked about my family. Did I have any brothers and sisters, where were my parents, what did they do for a living. I told him that they all died on Christmas Eve. They were hit by a drunk driver. I was nine, and I didnt die. Edward doesnt tell me stories anymore. 
\tTuesday night, and I go to work. Edward says I look like ****, and asks if Ive eaten. I cant remember. I wish my body didnt require so much sustenance. 
\tI have never lied to Edward. I think that really means something. Hes the only person Ive ever been entirely and completely honest with. 
\tI sweep. I mop. I empty the trash cans. I put fresh bags in them. I go outside for a smoke. 
\tThe cold night air wraps around me and Edward like a blanket. His breath escapes his lips and the frosty air makes it look like hes smoking too. Edward tells me that Id be a handsome young man if Id clean myself up a bit. Lose the dirty second-hand clothes. Wash my hair. Brush my teeth. Id have all of the girls after me. 
\tI dont even own a washer and dryer. My clothes come from thrift stores-and I mean the really cheap ones. I cant remember the last time that I really took a shower. I just do that thing where you take a wet, soapy face cloth and wash your face, and your pits. I probably smell awful. I dont care. 
\tAfter work I walk around for a few hours. I like being out at night. I stop at this little diner. The neon sign says Bennys. There arent many people there, which isnt surprising since its almost two a.m. There are a few drunks in the corner booth. The bar probably kicked them out and now they need a place to sit and feel like ****. At least they arent driving home. 
\tEdward says that theres good in everyone. Bull****. 
\tI order a coffee. Then I realize I havent eaten all day. So when the waitress brings me my coffee I order something. 
\tWhen I was nine my family really did die in a car accident on Christmas Eve. We were all packed into my moms minivan driving around town looking at the lights on all of the houses. A drunk driver came out of nowhere and hit us head on. Im the only one who survived. 
\tIm pretty sure that god was just ****ing with me. Ha ha, Adam. Now youre all alone. That tricky *******.

The Tourist · Sep 17, 2006

I finish my coffee before the waitress brings me my food. I change my mind. Im not hungry. I pay for it anyways, and I leave. 
\t 
\tMy apartment is cold. I have no heater. There are CDs littered everywhere. The only decent things I own are my CD player with surround sound and my ever growing collection of CDs. Theyre what I spend all of my money on. They are whats going to save me because soon, god I hope soon Ill find that song-that perfect song and Ill push it into my CD player slot. And Ill push play. And Ill pull the trigger. Eject soul. 
\tEdward will be the only person at my funeral. 
\tWednesday morning,or afternoon. Whatever. I walk down to Mickeys and its new release day. I buy a bundle of CDs and walk back home. I open one, put it in the CD player. I push play. 
\tFirst verse, chorus, second verse, blah blah blah. Eject. I can usually tell by the first song whether or not that particular CD is going to hold the key to my death. 
\tBy Christmas day I was a ward of the state. I spent the next nine years of my life in and out of foster care. I once heard someone say that most kids would rather have never been born than have to deal with foster families. They werent lying. My only escape from the hellholes I lived in was music. Music is the only thing thats ever meant anything to me. So choosing the perfect song to commit suicide to, well thats a tough decision. 
\tWednesday night at work and Edward tells me hes worried about me. He says I look like ****, and not the way that I usually look like **** either. I look sick. 
\tI sweep. I mop. I empty trash cans. I put fresh bags in the trash cans. I go into the mens bathroom to take a look at myself in the mirror. I havent seen myself in as long as I can remember. 
\tMy hair is short and uneven. My skin looks like plaster. My cheeks are sunken in. Around my eyes are all black. ****. I forgot to eat today. 
\tFinding this perfect song to kill myself to-this is my lifes work. This is my entire reason for existing. Im going through life looking for the perfect song to end it with. 
\tAfter work I go straight home to eat something. I open my cabinets, and theyre empty. No dusty noodles. I dont own a fridge. 
\tSo I get a CD from the plastic shopping bag. I put it in my CD player. I press play. First verse, chorus, second verse, blah blah blah. Eject. 
\tI go back into my bedroom and plop down on my mattress on the floor. No sheets. No pillows. Just a mattress and a blanket. I go to sleep. 
\tThursday morning or something and I feel like ****. So I stay in bed. I stay in bed all day until its time to go to work. 
\tEdward says God loves all of his children. What the **** does Edward know, anyways. 
\tI sweep. I dont mop. I dont empty the trash cans. I dont put fresh bags in them. I go outside and I smoke. I smoke cigarette after cigarette. Edward tells me to go to the bathroom and splash some cold water in my face. 
\tI stand in front of the mirror staring at sunken cheek, plaster-face me and I realize I havent eaten in a while. ****. 
\tI leave work early because Im dizzy, and Im doing that thing where you throw up but nothing comes out. Edward says hell cover for me. Edward, the only person on this earth who really gives a damn about me. 
\tI walk home in the dark very slowly. I see Bennys neon light in the distance and I walk a little faster. And I get light headed. And I go unconscious. And my head smashes hard against the concrete sidewalk. And I can feel that Im bleeding, but I cant move. And I can hear God laughing at me. Ha ha, Adam. Youre going to die without finding your perfect song. And I feel myself dying. You can actually feel that. And I say ****. 
\tGod is a tricky, tricky *******.

Amy SF · Sep 17, 2006

It's interesting. But a story about suicide? I realize it's fiction (it is, right?), but I don't know. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="/images/smilies/worried.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title=":worried:">

kpickell · Sep 17, 2006

At first glance, before reading it all, there are too many "I <verb>"'s.

K*today · Sep 17, 2006

I'm definitely not a literary critic....but i liked it. i like the repetion. its honest.

soilman · Sep 17, 2006

Not a bad story at all. But nobody wants to hear "Music pours from the ... and spills all over the room" again.. Please just say, "music comes out." It is normal-talk. ""Music pours from the ... and spills all over the room" is cliche "dime-store-novel" talk and by the way, "dime-store-novel" is cliche "dime-store-novel" talk. I figure the publishing business probably just calls them "novels." Same thing goes for "The wrinkles and cracks in his seventy something year old face look dusty. Like if I punched him in the face dust would disperse everywhere same as when you clap two chalky erasers together." I've seen a very similar sentence maybe in 800 different "dime-store novels." 
Same thing for "Edward says that there’s good in everyone. Bull****." 
I also liked the repetition -- and the recognition of it -- I liked the repetition of "I sweep, I mop..." and the fact that the person points out that he repeatedly buys cd's, which have repeated choruses ("first verse, chorus, second verse..."), and second songs that sound like the first, and that lives may be thought to be repeated.

Pescas · Sep 17, 2006

I read the whole thing and I think its incredibly good!

raddish · Sep 21, 2006

I actually REALLY liked it. 
You're good. 
What gave you the idea?

The Tourist · Sep 21, 2006

I don't know what gave me the idea, really. I'm glad you guys like it, though. Thanks for all of the replies.

delicious · Sep 21, 2006

I am sorry, but I don't like it. 
Not that I can write worth a sh*t. 
And what do I know?

evilvegan · Sep 21, 2006

I liked it.

Seb_0810 · Sep 22, 2006

Interesting story. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="/images/smilies/thumbsup.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title=":up:">

Suicide Song-a (very) short story

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