❪ ˖ ࣪ . ✶ this is either the night that 𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑺 𝑴𝑬 or 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺 𝑴𝑬 quite. ❫ | ،، ⚔️ . 🕳 . ⁺ ↸ {{ OTHELLO / act.v, scene.i }}. ㅤ
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tw: mentions of s*ic*de and de*th. paragraphs containing those sensitive topics will be marked with "(!)"
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ㅤ (!) IRONICALLY ENOUGH, I'D SPENTMY fair share of time contemplating when and how I was going to die. When I was fifteen, I promised myself that I'd be dead before I hit twenty-five— the night before my twenty-fifth birthday, I'd carry my ass to the top of the tallest building I could gain access to in Indianapolis, and elegantly swan dive off of that motherfucker and fall to my inevitable death. Splat. The self-elected end of Christian Redfield. The wake (if there was one) would be closed casket, of course, and the coroner'd roast my banged up corpse like chestnuts on an open fire ... and whoever cared enough to take responsibility for my toasty remains would (preferably) dump my ashes into Neuseoco Lake back home ... and I'd return to the earth as nothing but spicy sediment and maybe even some tasty bites for the fishes.
ㅤ (!) It seems morbid, I know, but I guess I really felt like being gone after my early twenties was the best and easiest thing to shoot for. I'd have been dead before life got too real and too sad... sadder than it already felt back then, I suppose. If I haven't made it obvious for you yet, I don't feel that way anymore. If anything, I wish I had gotten more time. A hell of a lot more time, actually. I'd take living past twenty-five any day over the bullshit hand I ended up being dealt. Never in a million years would I have predicted how I actually got to kick the bucket— better yet, suplex the fucking thing.
ㅤIn all fairness, I should have known better. I really do feel like a fool. A fucking idiot, actually. I've always known that I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed— or the sharpest knife in the drawer, whichever you prefer— but boy, did I surprise myself with the shit I tried to pull back in '86. It all seems so clear, my erroneous judgment feels so fucking obvious now. I wish I was able to teleport back in time and, at the very least, beat some sense into myself. "Wake up, you stupid son of a bitch! What the fuck are you thinking?!" That kind of thing. I guess hindsight really is 20/20, after all.
