THE SURPRISE HOUSE GUEST
Look at me now.
He drew a bath. Climbed in. Rubbed his aching toes as they adjusted to the heat.
I can't go on like this.
A tiny framed painting of an angel hung on the bathroom wall. He'd found it at a garage sale some years back. Two bucks. Practically fit in the palm of his hand. Dark wood frame so thick it dwarfed the little smiling angel's face inside.
I can't go on like this.
He leaned his head back against the tile. Mildew stains bled through the caulking.
God?
You sure haven't made it easy to be a human being nowadays. It's pretty hard to be down here, you know.
And I think...
Micah picked up the razor blade.
I think my sanity is slipping away.
He didn't move.
I can't go on like this.
Held his breath.
I...can't.
The blade's sharp, thin steel bent back the fine hairs upon his wrist.
Will the angels drop me?
A hesitation.
Will they?
He dropped the razor to the floor.
No.
Not this way. Not like this.
Bleeding: too messy.
Minutes passed. He dried himself. Dressed. Put on his favorite wool sweater. Donned his wristwatch. Brushed his dark hair back to keep it from his eyes.
Should've gotten a haircut. No difference now, I guess.
He walked into the living room. Opened a window. Glanced down to the street below.
Jumping: too painful.
Back to the bathroom. Stared at the assortment of sleeping pills and stolen Zoloft in the medicine cabinet.
Overdose: too...ugh.
To the kitchen. Saw something that struck his eye.
Yeah, that could do it.
Clean. Painless. And a proven track record.
He placed a small pillow inside the dark, greasy chamber. The dial was stuck, requiring some effort. When turned, the gas oven unleashed a calm, soothing hiss.
Micah stuck his head inside. The pillow made it surprisingly comfortable.
Yeah...
This is the way.
He inhaled.
Here we go. Nothing to be afraid of.
The world sucks and you know it. No one's gonna miss you, anyway.
Shouldn't take...too long...now...
Five...minutes...tops...
It's...time.