3 Punchline

I woke up some time later to the faint sound of piano coming through the walls. Abbi took up piano lessons sometime before my dad died, and every day I'd hear her practice through the thin wall that seperated her bedroom from my own. I always loved the sound of the piano, even if it was played shakily by a newcomer. Surprisingly enough, I grew to appreciate piano even more from hearing it played by my younger sister. The sounds of an occasional grunt of frustration triggered by the press of a stray key threatened to put a smile on my face more times than I'd care to admit. Though for every pleasant thought I had, my mind spun up three more that were wicked. Where I wish I could appreciate Abbi's determination to succeed, it was overshadowed by my own lack of resolve. For every muffled cheer she eked out upon learning a new song, my eye would twitch. A stressed reaction to a soothing sound. The beautiful sounds she played poured salt into the wounds of my fragile mind. I wish I could've told her how beautiful her notes were. I wish I could've told her how each key was unlocking my madness further still.

'She's really talented, isn't she? Crazy that she's related to a fuck up like you. Really makes you think, doesn't it? All you're really doing is making her look bad. What a joke.'

I reached my hand out over my head and laid down flat on my bed. I needed to calm down, and for some reason this had always helped me. Some years ago, I stuck a small ball painted like the earth to my ceiling. When my grip on reality began to slip, I liked to reach out and pretend I could hold it in the palm of my hand. It was stupid, of course, but it did me well enough to keep doing it. A lot of panic attacks were stopped dead by that little rubber ball. I took a deep breath before slowly exhaling.

Sometimes I'd grow calm enough to feel like I'm ready to take a step to get better. I'd get up from my bed and look out my bedroom window; small steps lead to big ones, or so I like to think. I'd watch birds in the tree outside my room when it was sunny, and I'd watch snow slowly fall to the ground when the weather grew cold. Looking out a window may not seem like a big deal to most people, but to me, a paranoid recluse, it was my only connection to the big, terrible world outside of my bedroom. Then, there were days that I'd see people walk by my house, couples holding hands, parents pushing strollers, kids walking dogs, all laughing as they walked on by. All laughing at me, the boy too afraid to come outside, the boy who locked himself in his room, who sees the outside world only through the fogged glass of his window.

I don't look anymore. I lie in my bed, and block out everything else. There's no point in continuing. The pressure is suffocating. To get out of bed, to give my family peace, to be anyone else. I couldn't do it. I can't continue to be. I can't continue to live the life I have.

'Really?! You call this a life? What are you living for? Who are you living for? Nothing. No one. Why do you even bother?!'

"I– I don't know. Maybe it's– maybe one day I could–"

'You could what? Go out of your room? Then what? You get beat? You get yelled at? You have to see Uncle John again?!'

"But I– I might be able to do it. I– I think that if I really tried that I–"

'Really?! If you tried? How many months has it been? How's that progress coming along? Are you doing well, Champ?! Are you even living at all? You're worthless.'

"I'm not worthless, I'm just– I just need a little more time than I could, maybe I could–"

'You've had a year. Who are you kidding? Fucking end it. You're worthless.'

"I– I don't think that I…"

I looked to the nightstand next to my bed and set my sights on a small bottle of pills.

'That's the idea! Do it! Do it! Do it!'

I slowly reached out and grabbed the bottle. I rubbed my index finger and thumb against the label, its glossy surface stimulating my fingertips.

'You know the next step, don't you?'

I shakily removed the cap from the bottle as tears began to stream down my face.

'And?'

I raised the bottle over my mouth and slowly tilted it forward until the remaining contents began to tumble towards my tongue. I grabbed a bottle of water and gulped.

'About damn time.'

I hoped that as I rapidly approached my finish line that the end of my life was just the first lap. I hoped that on the other side of the line flowers would bloom. I hoped that in death, I could find some life. "Are the pearly gates waiting for me? Are you waiting for me dad? I– I can't wait to see you."

'Tsk. Pearly gates, really? That's where you think you're going? Do you really think you deserve that?'

"No I- I guess I don't."

Overhead, a small green and blue ball fell from the ceiling, landing on the floor with an unceremonious thud. I looked to the ceiling once more and watched the blades of my fan lazily spin over my head. The world around me began to spin in tune with the fans, the walls blending with the ceiling.

'Are you ready? You asked for this. You did this. What will they think?'

I closed my eyes, residing to try and find some peace in my last few moments. The faint sound of ebony and ivory echoed throughout my eardrums.

'God, I hate piano.'