A Case For Suicide

A Case For Suicide

Posted by A Great Liar

“It’s nothing but a tale of the living and the dead, and the ones in between.” I watched the main street from the window of the apartment, thinking out aloud. “It’s funny that each man now walking across this street, is merely following the long lost trails of his ancestors who must have walked the same line, trudged on the same cobblestones and occasionally admired a fleeting beauty passing by, some whistling and rest in awe.”

Ammo replied. “Have you never no hope, Lev? You know you ought to say something nice tonight, it’s your birthday, for creeper’s sake”. A half burned cigarette dangling from her left hand, a thinly clad wrist with white hairless skin and bones strikingly jutting out. The many misnomers of drug abuse blended with hours spent in artistic torture.

I continued on, for a moment mindless of her incitements of hope. “And the ones before them, and before that, and so on. Hence the ironic cycle of life, and God’s great cast of actors and actress upon this planet.”

Ammo replied. “Don’t you think that it’s a blessing that most of them, including you hopefully, will live to see another year.”

“Yes, though I hardly consider it a cause of celebration.” I replied. “Living is but one of the strangest acts of suicide, Ammo.” My voice low enough to qualify as a whisper. “It’s an acknowledged descent into the abyss, self willed, but done with hope, with flair, and in high spirits. An act of self annihilation done in extremely good taste.”

She said. “Perhaps you need to live a little more, Lev. And need to see beyond the veil of your opinions.” Paused. “Perhaps you also need to take into account the very possibility that you and your cockamamie opinions about life and the rest of the haberdashers surrounding it could be wrong.”

I turned back to pay her a brief glance and indulged myself with the view again. “Perhaps I could be wrong. I would believe so, but if it wasn’t for growing old and dying. I mean seriously, Ammo, what do you get for all that stammering, and fretting and bloody yearning to enjoy each moment, as they say. What is that reward awaiting us beneath the veil of innocence and youth? It’s old age Ammo, in watch for years like a cold blooded reptile in the ambush, once all the ambitions of life escape us. What happens then? We friggin’ grow old. And you know what old age is like? Would you like to? It’s all that cocaine blood drying beneath your pretty skin and the bones stretch and curve to the hilt. Eyes sink and circle with bloodless dark, and you tend to squint to improve the vision that has taken a nose dive with age.”

“Ahan”. She was obvious taken aback by my newly acquired tone, and forgot her protests for a while. “Do go on, Lev, what else is there?

Now we are talking, I thought to myself and said. “What else? I guess your feet grow morbid with the distances traveled, whether for good or bad, all that walkin’ and dancin’ of mindless youth will have its toll. Because growing old knows no morality. It knows no good or bad, it is just plain simple growing old.”

She averted her eyes and muttered quietly to herself. “It must be awfully terrible then, Lev.”

I continued. “It’s terrible. Terrible from the sound of it, and terrible to look at. To feel and touch, it’s repulsive. Some say the physical aspect of growing old is the sickness of one’s soul manifested in flesh, sickness inherited by the years spent in the dark vestiges, to do one’s evil wills. But who knows. Hard to tell what rejoices the most in men, the body or the soul, by the prospect of evil. The evils we never tire to forbid each other in civility, while cherishing its many prospects in private. And you know, as always, evil is sought the most in private. Call it proliferation of man’s will against the God, especially when he thinks that no one is watching.” I winked at her.

“All right”. She seemed to be pondering over what I said momentarily, and then asked. “But what of men who have spent a life of absolute righteousness. You can’t have a same yardstick for a saint and a sinner, or whatever is the word for men with and without morals.”

“There are no words, Ammo.” I replied. “Just as there are no saints. Only an occasional soul who eventually tires out of sinning. Or perhaps it’s a sheer case of lambs never being able to indulge in cannibalism, much as they would want to. It’s immoral to make saints of them lambs. Since they didn’t know any better.”

“So you believe there is no morality amongst men”. She asked. “Or that men with morals simply do not exist”.

“No, I don’t believe that.” I replied. “Like I have always told you, Ammo, I believe in everything and in nothing. And as for morals, they have been thrust upon us, either with or without our consent. From the cradle to a grave, we are expected to behave like a child of Light, or a herald of truth and virtue. My point is, why can’t we simply be men, without the edifications of good and evil always shoved in our faces. Why can’t we be allowed to do evil, without being constantly judged, and above all, why is there a heavy price to be paid every time I bid to enjoy myself, even at the cost of my soul. And why, for all the evil but pleasant things, the price that awaits us in this world and the next is hundred times more than the magnitude of the deed done, if you go by the scriptures, that is.”

“Well, most of what you say is beyond me”. She tossed her finished cigarette in the tray, now obviously looking to end the conversation. “But I do know one thing for certain.”

I asked, calmly and without looking. “And what would that be, Ammo.”

“Well, I do believe that one of these days, you are gonna take that .32 calibre out of your dad’s closet and blow your already-so-messed-up brains out.”

“Ahan”. I said. “And would it be too bad if I did?”

“Well”. She replied. “All I can say is that you would be sorely missed, for sure. In spite of all your eccentricities and mind boggling convictions”.

“Yes”. I replied. “Sorely missed and remembered, and furnished with a fancy obituary in some daily that every fool wakes up in the morning to read. And celebrates in silence and in shame his existential triumph over the ones the fool had outlived. But only for some time, some some time …

And I continued on, failing to realize that she had already left the room, having quietly shut the door as she did so. 

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