The last attempt…

I am trying to write a novel…yes…and following is the first chapter of my novel…
(It is a bit dark as may seem to you but does not reflect my present mood by any chance)
Also, the novel is still untitled and “The last attempt” is actually the name of the first chapter.

Now that I have done it all….or as I perceive; since I have enjoyed what I always wanted to taste….at least; I want to end it, once and for all; exterminate it before it decays by itself, helping it escaping a painful exit…Life, they say, has a meaning; it stays as long as it means to, after that, it has to leave…forever… Perhaps the time has come for me….

There is nothing left in my pockets. Ten thousand bucks….three days: Not a bad bargain by any chance. Last night was a heaven….much better than I had ever imagined. I have finally done it; I now leave… for the better of it. But just before I leave, I change what I used to think, or rather, what I was impelled to think: Life is just a bigger version of snake and ladders– you throw a six headed dice and move as many squares as represented on the top of the dice.

The head of a snake: go down to the square touching its tail.
The bottom of a ladder: go up to its top.

In real life you can view it in as many ways as you desire. You throw a dice as you make a decision and it decides where you go. We never know the consequences of decisions we make. Earlier I used to think that this throwing of dice, even if arbit in nature, depends on some control from our side….may be the art of throwing it….deceiving the opponent…. Some share, I used to argue, has to be there from the puppet’s side–it supports common sense to think things that way….

But, now, I think differently: our life, perhaps, has been laid out already….in precise details; the next number on the dice has already been decided, beforehand, perhaps much before we started the game. Probability is an illusion, just to make us believe that we are important…

It is early morning and I am on my way to…I don’t know. How can I? Last night, I was in a five star hotel, in a five star suite, lying on a five star bed, just after a five star bath in a five star bathroom and well ….over a five star prostitute….

Sex, they say, is pure; Sex, they say, is a sin; fuck them off. Sex, I now know, is bliss, the freedom from the shackles enslaving you to life….life, which I hate more than even dependence. It was fun all the way–the last night, the first and the last, by all means, planned and executed, in the most sublime of ways…..

There is chaos in the city. People are frantic. Police on guard. Even politicians are out of bed. But I am walking, nonchalant, down the marine drive….alone. Last night was a wonderful opportunity though, I could have done it the victim way….or the perhaps, the martyr…. but luck has haunted me throughout my life, how could it leave me alone during death. But no more contempt now, I have an entire ocean in front of me….

I take a boat, free it from the anchor holding it, aboard it and start with all by myself. A gale is flowing in opposite direction, not unexpected by any means, but I know—I shall win this time. The sea lies in the front–vast, wide, long and deep….ready to engulf the whole of me. But I wait, the death may be too inconspicuous an accident if it happens so very near the shore; I wait till I get little bit more deep, just as luck got into my life. I want it to be simple, painless affair. I definitely don’t want a fuss out there; I don’t want my parents to know. How many parents would want to know that their son died seven days after they thought he had died? To know that he lived seven days more than they thought he had lived? Or, to think they could have prevented it from happening?….

Suicide is the permanent solution of some temporary problem – my father used to argue; then what is the permanent solution to a permanent problem? I ask. Only meek suffer from the delusions of suicide—my mother used to say; then I am…. They must be crying out loud, now; wailing over the death of their eldest son; but with no dead body to put fire to….just a paper, kept over the laptop, with these words: I leave….for good….

I never wanted an end like that; I too used to be a good boy…. once upon a time. But time had its own wish; you can’t do anything when it is something against something planned by time. May be my end is part of that something. May be it had to happen this way. May be I should have died the same instant when I got double pneumonia….six months into life. May be its too late now, to recognize the mistakes I committed and try repairing them. May be its too deep into the ocean and I should….do the thing…

I swore loudly to someone called God and plunged my decaying self into saline waters…..And my entire life started swimming in front of my dazed eyes….May be—this sensation prevails ….– before you finally leave this world….