“What day is it?” he asks.
I say nothing. I can’t remember. I slide his food underneath the door. A cockroach, yellow like the end of a cigarette, crawls out from his room. I walk away and return to the kitchen to fix myself a bologna sandwich. I feed him better than I feed myself.
On the counter, I see a bottle of pain meds. Maybe that would be good? No, it’ll probably be too painful.
I go to my living room and look at the front door. It’ll be hard, but it’s possible. I sit down at my computer desk as a rat races past my foot. No problem.
I turn on my computer and try to message my friends. Nobody answers. I try to message my mother, but I forgot she died last month. Then I message the whore that I use to fuck every other day, she responds by sending me a picture of her naked body.
I relieve my freshly grown erection, then stand up and return to the kitchen. I retrieve the set of keys from the drawer and return to my bedroom. I open up my closet door and peek inside at the noose hanging from the ceiling. Should be strong enough and the most painless way.
I leave my room and return to the basement door. I slide the keys underneath to the man I’ve kept in my basement. He doesn’t have the answers I’ve sought for so long. His music was all fake. He doesn’t know what it’s like being someone like me. He can consider this his birthday present.
I return to my bedroom closet and perch myself on the chair in there. I slip the noose around my head and kick the chair underneath me. It’s no problem. It’ll only hurt for a second.
KYLE ATWOOD 