This could have ended in a better way. This could have been one of those times you say "God pulled him through". He stared right down there on the stairs to his apartment with a grin on his face betraying his real intention. He wore a triumph look and caged a terror. This isn't the worst that had happened, but a man can only stand so much. He belched and gave an irritating look powered by the smell of the petrol he had drank. " It's all gonna be over soon" he had said as he felt himself heavier than a generator's tank.
This wasn't his first attempt to end "this miserable" life that was given to him. He once took an overdose of the drugs his mother had left on the table when he was 13. He said he thought they would kill him, but instead they were just vitamins. He had intentionally jumped in front of a running car, only to wake up at the hospital three days later. "Why is he torturing me with being alive!?" He screams at God. But who would blame him for wanting to run away? Run away from the stigmatization he faced. He'd be 42 next Saturday but the closest anyone had ever been to him after knowing about his predicament was 5ft apart.
The first time it had happened was when he turned 10. A big number for the boy turning to a man. The party was huge and he was the point of attention. "Happy Birthday, James" echoed from the crowd orchestrated by Mrs Aiyegbeni, his mum. Then the devil chimed in with his tunes and left James to dance under the table. The coldness in his eyeballs sent a horror to every kid present. He stretched and stretched till his lips were all filled with soap lather as Simeon(his classmate who was also his class captain) had recounted the experience. The bubbling party was now nothing more than a stare of confusion and countless worries. "What could be wrong?" "Is he dying?", the kids were asking but the parents knew that was the last time their kids would be hanging out with James or his family.
He felt the taste of his own blood on his tongue. The drowsiness had set in. " Would anyone see the note I wrote?" He asked himself. Perhaps not, but he hoped they will. This time he would fall, but unlike always he would not be getting up. He would not be cleaning his hair himself. He would not be ashamed to talk with anyone ever again. He would not be reminded how many times he'd been rejected (not by incompetence but because he could fall anytime).
He wouldn't have to go another day yelling to people's ears that "EPILEPSY IS NOT CONTAGIOUS! YOU WONT HAVE EPILEPSY BY HOLDING MY HANDS!". On the other hand, he thought he might be on the floor for a while for two reasons: a, they might think this is another feat and b, no one wants to touch an epileptic corpse.
And with this, he smiled in his tears for the end.
[Dice]
