Authors note: Suicidial ideations. If this
disturbs you, stop reading here.
Lucas walked in his quarters, quietly closing
the door behind him. His mind was whizzing in a million different directions.
He turned on the monitor closest to him, then turned on playlist 5. It
was all the Pink Floyd albums. The Final Cut was the first album. He sat
on his bunk to think.
Lucas stared at the wall, not really seeing
it, just letting his eyes focus on it. It provided his brian with the simpleness
it needed. He struggled to find a positive solution to this problem, but
it wouldn't come. He was about to lose the most important thing in his
life, and there was nothing he could do about it. They said it would be
ok, that they would come back, but he knew otherwise. Nothing he loved
ever came back. It was kind of like death. Once you let what you loved
go, it was gone forever.
Death...that was no new thought. He only
had a small portion of his brain that wanted to live. The other, largest
part considered death ok. Death accepted everyone, not really caring who
or what you were. It didn't really care how you got there, just glad you
were there.
The smaller portion of his brain fought to
keep sane, to not join the other part. It still held the hope that the
promises would come true, that they would come back. It argued loudly,
screaming that something good could come in this life, he just had to find
it.
The larger part only laughed. Every time
something good happened, it had a bad ending.
Lucas laughed as tears ran down his face.
He could almost hear the sides of his brain argueing. He wondered if he
was really losing it, finally having the last break down. It was funny,
once he finally let the break down take effect, life became very clear,
almost fighteningly easy to distinguish right form wrong.
He gently wiped the tears from his cheeks.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live, just
to spite the people that said he'd never make it on his own. He laughed
ironically at the knowledge that if he were dead it really wouldn't matter
what those people thought. He didn't want to die in pain, he'd already
felt enough of that.
He wanted to die simply in his sleep. He
knew several medications that would nicely take care of that. It was kind
of sad, but he knew exactly how much morphine would kill him. It was a
relatively simple way to die, all he had to do was give the injection.
He would calm down, his body would relax, hell, he might even have a nice
hallucination or two, then his respirations would slowly start to decrease.
That was the bad side effect of morphine that doctors had to take into
consideration. It was a wonderful anti-anginal, but it also decreaed your
respirations. He had studied enough medications to know what did what.
He relaxed onto his bunk, stareing at the aqua tude. He didn't know which way he was going to go, but then again, he never did. He laid back letting himself fall asleep.