I Am Bad at Naming Things

It's times like this which make you realize... not all ideas are good ideas.

Nathan? He was a good guy. Hard worker. Fan of beer. Dead.

Shannon? She was alright. Nice body. Annoying voice. Dead.

Melissa, Ben, Evan, Sam. Michael. How did any of us decide this was an idea worth pursuing?

Standing here alone, holding a plastic bag. Alone. Surrounded by one, two, three, four, five... six bodies. All of them, the bodies of my friends, who I thought were pretty good at making decisions. Judging by their lives, anyway. Nathan and Shannon owned a house, were planning a family. Melissa and Ben were doctors. Evan and Sam had just come out and were in the process of adopting a child. Michael? Well, that's me. I always thought I was the worst one at this kind of thing.

I have--I had--a job, but I decided to walk out one day and never look back. I'm single. Not by choice; shit, I have my poor decision-making to thank for that one. Both of those things happened to me about twelve hours ago, which is why I'm in the awkward position I'm in right now.

Six bodies. Is this explainable? "Suicide pact gone wrong?" "Young man kills his friends in woods." Yeah, those headlines sound inviting. "I swear, officer, it was a good idea at the time!" Yeah. Not.

Nathan. He was the one who initiated it. Wheeling in the helium canister. "Let's do it," he said. "Let's top ourselves!" For a group of people with brains, and lives ahead of them, this really was one stupid fucking idea.

Yet here I stand, in a field, surrounded by six of my best friends. Geniuses who decided, at one point, that we should all just kill ourselves. Life couldn't get any better. All the best people did it. Cobain. Hemingway. Others.

Yeah, this was a really bad idea.

So here I am, looking over the six bodies, all hooked up to a helium tank, all with plastic bags over their faces. Except my hose never worked. It never pumped shit. Instead I just stood there and watched my friends make the worst decision they'd ever made.

Funnily enough, by my surviving, I probably look like the biggest idiot of all.

I can't wait to go back home and tell this story. Mum will smother me in hugs and cookies. Dad will look at me like I'm an idiot--and rightly so. News vans will hound me day-in, day-out. I'll likely be blamed and charged for the whole goddamn thing.

Oh, the tank hadn't worked because the hose wasn't connected. For some reason, I then decide to connect the hose properly. Oh, yeah, now he does it properly. Score points to Michael for another wonderful episode in the idiot-decisions saga.

Shit. I could just get in the car and drive away. Probably a bad idea. I could call the cops. Definitely a bad idea. Call Mum? But then Dad would be there. Yeah, now those are definitely a bad decisions.

Fuck it.