Comic death

Today… I feel like dying.
5 a.m. As the sensuousness of the eyelashes softly breaks away from the frozen skin, an answer thrusts through my indifferent body in a moment of utmost neurosis : today, I feel like dying.
5:30 a.m. I shape my course to the park for a well-worth dose of jogging. In my moments of psychological solitude, I try to imagine the end, I begin desiring to deepen my sorrow. Just one impediment in the process carved of theories: how? Not where, or when, or maybe…, but how.
7:55 a.m. With oppressive and brutalized steps, I make my way to school. I am not alone, N. is lightly breathing on my left side. She had strategically placed her body with half a meter distance from mine , all for a dialogue as concise and insulting as possible and with a closer finality. I can not tell her…
10:20 a.m.: L. is worried, but in 23 seconds he has already forgotten it…
10:26 a.m.: I am asked: ‘ Are you ok? ‘ ‘ No ‘, I respond. ‘ Can I help you? ‘; ‘ Yes, kill me ‘. An idiotic smile pumps his face and whispers : ‘ That’s not really what you want ‘. Then is when I got it. I did wanted it. I wanted to die more than I ever wanted to smoke, and cigarettes is all I've been dreaming of in the past 2 years. This present feeling was also an addiction, one that was aggravating with each hour, an addiction that I could conclude only by obeying it. ‘ Thank you ‘, I whisper with a certain indignation and leave the room.
1:23 p.m. L. is back… After a raving school break, I calmly cry out : ‘ Today, I am going to die ‘. The shock dissipates and he embraces me smiling: ‘ Have you thought how ‘? The expression and lavish tears complete my answer. ‘ I can help ‘, he says. ‘ Please… ‘, I answer.
No one remembers the precise hour or even the occurrence, but from that day on, L. and C. have not been seen. The authorities have been looking for them for 6 years fulfilled today. Family and friends have lamented the first 6 days , but then they forgot…