Procrastination Can Save Your Life

I was fed up with life. Really, I was. It was just too much. I really cannot take any more of this.

The pitiful existence I led could hardly be called life. No, even death was better than this, and now, I’m going to make that better choice. I’m choosing death.

I take that razor, and bring it close to my wrist, the silver blade glinting in the dim light of my bedroom. I run my hands up and down the blunt edge, almost caressing it. This is my ticket to happiness, my way out of a life full of misery and grief.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. I hadn’t paid my phone bill yet. The connection would be cut if I didn’t pay it by tomorrow. I got up, and almost dropped the razor and was on my way to get the bill when something else occurred to me.

Why would I need a cell phone if I was dead? Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I went back to me seat on the window pane and brought the blade back to my wrist.

As I am about to make the cut, I notice my veins. Funny, I’ve never paid my attention to them before, but now, they look so…fragile. Yes, they looked fragile. Tiny blue lines that crisscrossed, stark against my pale, almost white skin. They were throbbing too, ever so softly. I ran my hands down the skin covering them, surprised at how I didn’t feel anything. I was sure I would feel pain if I touched them.

“Concentrate.” I told my self sternly and turned back to the task at hand. My suicide. It’s getting dark, I must do it before long if I didn’t want anyone to knock and disturb me. As I press the blade to my wrist, on those delicate veins, another thought occurs.

If I cut myself, I was sure to make a mess, and I certainly didn’t want to stain the covers of the window seat. I am rather fond of that seat, and I really don’t want it to be marred with great, dark splotches of my blood.

I bring out some towels from the bathroom and spread them across the seat, making sure that there was a thick layer, sufficient to staunch the flow of blood, and sat back down to cut myself.

I press the blade into my wrist, and pull it, but nothing happens. A very small cut is made, but that is all. The blade is too blunt to work properly. I sigh and go to the kitchen, to find a better knife.

When I enter the kitchen, I see Clara, my cat waiting there for me to give her her food. Feeling slightly guilty for delaying her dinner, I quickly make her food and then rummage around for a sharp knife so I can cut myself.

None of the knives I possess seem good enough, so I decide to buy a new one. As I put on my coat, I looked out the window and saw that it had begun to rain. I didn’t fancy getting drenched, so I slipped off my coat and went and sat down on my couch. I picked up the remote control and turned on the television set.

I would commit suicide tomorrow.