Archive for June, 2008|Monthly archive page


The wind struck his face. Hard.

He pulled the chord. Nothing happened.

He pulled again.


Oh my god, He thought. Oh, Jesus Christ oh my dear god.

He opened his eyes. Nothing but blue skies all around him. A perfect friggin’ day.

He couldn’t see the ground. Then he realized he has turned upside down, and was grateful for it in a kind of a foolish way, considering he’s about to hit the ground at about 300 Kilometers per hour.

He pulled the chord again.


He wondered how the others were doing. He wondered if they could see him hurtling towards the earth like a shot pigeon. He wondered if he’ll make a huge dent in the ground like in those WB cartoons he liked so much. T-T-THAT’S ALL FOLKS!

He wondered why he took that stupid sky-diving course in the first place.

Oh yeah, he wanted to spice up his life. Well, it sure is spiced now.

Sitting in that windowless office, day in day out, entering the invoices in the excel sheet, making the phone calls, going to meetings, drinking coffee at 8 AM, at 10 AM, at 12 PM. Wanting to call Lizzy and ask how she’s doing, and never doing so because it’ll hurt like hell just hearing her voice.

Only three months ago he sat at the edge of his bed with its rumpled sheets, and looked at the tiny box he was holding in his hand. Looked at it as if it was a live grenade. 20 of these little pills, and he’ll be out like a kite. (He invented that expression and was very pleased with himself for about half an hour).
He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t brave at all. He didn’t want to blow his brains out and he didn’t want to jump off the roof. He didn’t want to leave a stain. He wanted to go nice and clean. Yeah, nice and clean. And pain-free.

What a coward.

He put the pills in his mouth and spat them right out again.

Time seemed to freeze. He didn’t know how many minutes he was hurtling like that. Could be 20 seconds for all he knew.

He panicked and started to flail his arms. He knew it was stupid, but he did it anyway. For some reason, the image of Foghorn Longhorn came to his mind and he stifled an almost insane laughter.
And then, suddenly, he saw it. Coming towards him, green and brown. The Man Who Came To Earth, he thought. That’s me, that’s me.

He pulled the chord again, knowing it was useless, but not able to think about anything else he can do. The wind blew so hard at his face he could hardly breathe. He thought it would be hilarious if he suffocated before he hit the ground. His hair blew around him and he was sorry he didn’t and up getting that haircut he planned to get.

Why the hell was he thinking about about such mundane things when he was about to SPLAT?

He was at his therapist’s office. They were talking about his depression. The therapist said that his depression was mild.
He told her about his lack of love life, about his loneliness, about the job he hated and about his stupid boss.
He didn’t tell her he took the pills, though. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to kill himself. He thought he was just joking around.

Maybe he was fooling himself. He thought, what’s the use of going to a therapist if you don’t tell her the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you god?

He didn’t really feel the therapy was making him feel better. On the contrary. He often felt quite miserable when he emerged out of her office, after spewing all this self hatred of his.

And It stayed like a bile in his throat.

One day, when he was sitting in the waiting room, looking at magazines (whenever he sat there he envisioned himself as Tony Soprano, who made going to the shrink cool again. Too bad he wasn’t half the man Tony was, he thought helplessly), he came across a large ad which read:






It caught his imagination.

Inside the office, he discussed with her the idea of going for it. She was very encouraging and enthusiastic. She said it will do him good.

Yeah, real good, he thought now.

Stay calm! He thought helplessly. Remember what they told you to do in case of an emergency! There’s a… There’s a…

That’s right! There was a second, back-up chute. He fumbled, trying to find the chord. He couldn’t find it and panicked again. He tried to concentrate.

There it is!

He pulled at it. Hard. A sudden jerking force blew him upward. He felt the chute open above him and cried tears of joy.

But still, he was flying too fast, too goddamn–

The impact blew what little air he had left out of his lungs. He felt a crushing pain all over his body and lost consciousness.

When he came to, he found himself hanging in midair. He had a weird sensation in his belly. He gazed down and saw a large, thick branch poking out of the right side of his abdomen. He studied it, strangely unaffected, like it was some third limb that has always been a part of his body.

Blood was trickling down into his eyes, and his back felt like it was chewed up and spat out by a combine.

But he was alive.

Someone shouted something. He couldn’t understand what. The world has been reduced to the branch in his belly and a ringing, peculiar silence, like what you hear, or don’t hear, if you’re at a shooting range without wearing your ear mufflers.

He tried to move his head, but the pain was excruciating. Then he saw that some of them were running towards him, pointing. Someone shouted, someone else answered.

Then there was a snap and he fell down. Again.

In those brief few seconds, he tried to imagine he’s Duffy Duck so it wouldn’t feel that bad.

He lay on the ground, and suddenly felt an urge to laugh, although trying to do so only meant more pain.

He fell from height of 3,000 meters and survived.

He, who thought about killing himself only three months ago. Wasn’t it fucking ironic?

He heard a siren. People were standing around him, talking in what sounded like gibberish.

Before he closed his eyes and went into a blissful sleep, he thought:

Man, what a story to tell the grandkids.