He didn't know where he was going. But he was determined. He knew no direction, but he knew he was going somewhere. Suicide. He heard that word, since he was a child. For the last few months it became a mantra. It hummed in his mind like a mocking bird. Did he have debts to pay? Was he overburdened with his family?
NO, HE thought, hardly any debts. He had a small family of only two children, which meant four mouths to feed, including him and his wife. But that word in a way captivated his mind. But, before he did that, before he sacrificed himself at the altar of expediency he decided he would go for a last, last binge.
He entered the bar sideways, as if he was already drunk. It was only four in the evening. I forgot my suicide note, he thought, a note not blaming anyone - only himself. The drinks were going into the throat, and he could feel the steam.
Suicide, he said. When a man does not take his life, but sacrifices all that he has - body, soul and spirit. The mobile rang. Coming, he growled. It was his wife.
Could she not understand, that this was the greatest moment in his life, when he was about to forsake himself, including THEM! He took one more draught, deeply. Ah, pleasant! One last one.
He switched off the mobile. By now he was quite sloshed. The glass looked like a mirror, he revolved it, turned it around.
My sweet breath he thought. Eight o'clock. One more he pleaded, to himself, one last one. ONE MORE.
Minutes are ticking away furiously something, someone said.
Where is suicide? Yes, where is it?
Four months later when he died of liver malfunctions, he knew.
He had committed suicide.