Girls, Guys and Ghosts

Chapter 1 ~ Euthanasia

If I were to commit suicide, I'd probably drown myself.

Not that I'm suicidal or anything.

Well...not really.

But I don't know, there's just something about being underwater.

It's the absence of sound. The absence of noise, the absence of worries. There is no sound to clutter thoughts, and no distractions to avert my attention. The fluidity and ease of motion brings a sense of tranquility. And even the in the hazy blurriness of opening your eyes, in viewing your world through a foggy scope, those moments are filled with more clarity than even years above the bliss of water.

It's the freedom. Beneath gentle pools of blue, I am free from the captivity of gravity. In my fluidity, I can swim up to the surface, towards golden rays penetrating the sapphire waves and illuminating the water. But I can just as easily let go, cease all movement, and feel myself drift deeper into shadowy waters. The light will go farther and my throat will tighten in protest, a sensation I am no stranger to. But I am too consumed in my thoughts to oblige to the screams of my throat. The coolness of air brings my throat relief but my mind nostalgia.

It's the solitude. You're alone. Well, not entirely. Your thoughts are there to occupy you, but oh what an escape it brings! In the thinness of air, silence is never present, I have never been blessed with silence's speech. It has never graced my ears. Yet, I am closer than ever to hear it's bittersweet song. It's the occasional pressure on the ears that is a reminder of reality, but a diminutive one. One must remember that we are merely human. We were not built to live underwater.

And maybe that is why I love it so much.

But of course, that little voice always finds its way to my hears, pouring temptations into my ears until my brain is filled to the brim with them. They are raspy, soft, menacing, seductive songs and screeches of "stop".

"Just...stop"

"Don't fight"

"Don't strain"

"Don't swim"

"Just stop"

Not that I'm suicidal or anything.

It didn't take to long for the voice to make its presence known this time. It had been over a minute. My throat burned my ears strains and my face contorted to restrain any intake of water. Yet I willed myself to endure longer. I ignored the loudly quite whispers of that voice, while I embraced it and challenged myself further.

A fire erupted in my esophagus, a fire that spewed sparks into my cranium that burned through my skull. Pain licked at every inch of my head. But I willed and I willed and I willed myself further. Flames ate away at my jaw, ash spewed in my mouth, tendrils of heat coiled around my throat. Incendiary substances tore my head apart and melted my brain into nothing. I was on fire. I was on fire in water.

Not that I'm suicidal or anything.

My arms and legs had finally obliged to the relenting screams of my throat, granting it the sweet release from the water's hold

I drew long, shaky inhales calming my throat and replenishing my body. I had prepared for another five minutes into the blue abyss, but the prune-likeness of my fingers and the obsidian taking siege of the sky advised against it.

Emerging from the pool, I felt my drenched hair stuck to the small of my back and well beyond it, gallons of water had seeped into my locks. Thousands of droplets clung desperately to my body, a final stance in a lost battle. My throat protested slightly from a small intake of chlorine, but had otherwise had stayed content with its reunion with oxygen. My mind and thoughts were free from the bliss of water, but it seemed as though my body wasn't.