Life after Suicide

Prologue

You've Pissed off the Fates


Despite the intense light flooding through, the stout figure standing a few yards off cast no shadow. Pete wasn't sure where they were. He couldn't even tell if they were in a room or not. Could the glaring white engulfing them be considered walls and floors? It all lacked texture, almost as if they were simply inside a color and nothing else. Two doodles drawn in the middle of a blank page.

With nothing to lose (a dull stab of a feeling), he stepped closer to the person. Their beady eyes were obviously tracking him. Well, as obvious as they could be with that black mop of hair hanging in their squashed face. Due to their surroundings, the probable dye job was made all the more potent. "Oh great, it's one of those Goth kids I've read about." Pete thought to himself. "Just what I need, another ungrateful stuck-up clique." A scowl flashed across the stranger's pug-like face, as if they'd read his mind and were displeased with the label. If that was somehow true, they said nothing to debate it.

Kowalski felt itchy. He began to hate the studious stare. The silent eyes judged him. And he deserved it too. He knew that he'd done something terribly awful, yet he could not remember exactly what.

"That would be your decision to hang yourself," the stranger spoke for the first time. Their voice was a lot lighter than he imagined it would be, a bit childlike even. It felt so out of element to the rest of the package that he couldn't even register the actual words they'd spoken. He'd been half hoping that the voice would convince him one way or another about the person's gender. The lack of curves in their body had him leaning towards male, but that could have been attributed to their dark baggy clothes. Taking a page from Gord, Pete tried harder to examine what they were wearing, but when he tried to make out a t-shirt or jeans or any other recognizable article, his eyes grew fuzzy. Closely studying the person was like trying to capture that wormlike squiggle in your vision.

"I didn't think that gender mattered all that much to you, Petey." They dragged out his unwanted nickname as though it would hurt him. He'd felt too far for too long to be stung by names anymore.

Still, he wanted to know what in the world they were talking about. "What?" The strangled way his voice choked the simple word out surprised him. Pete hadn't felt particularly scared by the mysterious setting, more paranoid and confused if anything. To his own ears, he sounded as if he'd been frozen in fear for years though.

"You know how you are when you watch those dirty little movies on your laptop in the middle of the night. Never can decide which person to keep your sight on, can you?"

Not surprisingly, he felt the cartilage of his ears grow hot. Jimmy would have decked the guy (or girl), and Gary would have drawn blood in one way or another. Unfortunately, he was nothing like his sort of friends. He couldn't even get out a snippy comment about it not being any of their business. Instead, he stood there in silence for several moments, allowing himself to scratch his arm.

"So, uh, I don't suppose I'm in a dream or anything like that?" His voice still came strained. The other person shook their head with a smirk. "Could you maybe tell me what's going on?"

"What pushed you over the edge? I replayed your last day, your last week even, several times now and I still don't know what finally broke."

It was like he was in one of those cheaply budgeted movie scenes; the dialogue was going over his head and he was embarrassed to have to admit it. "I-I don't really know what's happening here."

"You killed yourself. I'm mildly curious as to why. They've had me on your sappy life's watch for years, and I just don't understand why you chose to end it when you did. I saw you through the weeds. That time with your leg, your parents' nasty separation, the endless teasing…" They trailed off, lost in thought. The smirk left their face, but they didn't look particularly upset with reviewing what Pete considered to be his worst memories. Even when he went through his periods of being numb, thinking back on some days would still make him squeeze his eyes shut to hold back a tear or two. "Anyways, why'd you do it? I thought I was finally going to be pulled off your case, things were looking good, and then you have to go and quit." They clucked their tongue.

Some meaning was beginning to sink through. "I killed myself?" Finally, he sounded normal again. The thought didn't bother him much, although he did wish he could remember if it was true or not. Suicide was something that he'd mildly fantasized for years. He used to just brush it off, figuring himself to be too much of a coward to go through with it.

"Yes, you did. Thanks for finally getting with the program here."

It was almost a pleasant thought. Not having to wake up with a tiny prick of dread every morning. He wouldn't have to think about his father's disappointment anymore or whether it was wrong of him to miss his old tormentor.

"Don't you dare go gloating on your choice!" the stranger spat out. Pete jumped at their sudden venom. "You've pissed off the Fates and now I have to go through this whole spiel again."

"The fates?" He was reminded of the cartoon movie Hercules, and then he quickly had to push back the memory of being dragged out of the theater because Cerberus had scared him to the point of crying.

"Yes. Life is their game and they just can't stand when people quit it early. So I get stuck having to babysit losers like you through punishments."

Pete sucked in a quick breath, surprised that it burned his throat. "I'm getting punished?" Thoughts rapidly built up in his head. "Oh geeze! I only heard of that in the bible—I didn't really think Christianity was real. I'm going to Hell! I couldn't even handle Bullworth, how can I be sent to Hell?"

The person shrugged. "I don't know much about Christianity or any religions really. I don't know what the real afterlife is; my only knowledge is what the Fates implemented in me. For all I know, what you people call Hell exists and you'll end up there if you fail. Or maybe there's nothing at all. It doesn't concern me."

"Fail at what? What's going to happen to me?"

Letting out a long dejected sigh, the person went on to say, "Because they can't stand people quitting, my bosses decided that everyone who offs themselves like you gets a second chance. But only if you make it through your penalty." A second chance at life didn't sound exactly appetizing, but it did come off better than Hell. Peter opened his mouth, which caused the person to bark "Don't interrupt me!" at him.

Going through a lengthy explanation about having to atone and viewing what his absence would do to those close to him, the dark person spoke in a mostly robotic tone. That coupled with his constant battle of keeping his panic down made Pete miss out on most of what they were saying. "For every one day, you will live two." If he thought about it rationally, he would have found the whole premise ridiculous. That wasn't happening though. Instead, he fretted and itched at his neck.

"I'll be the Virgil to your Dante."

The person stopped speaking and returned to studying him silently. From nowhere in particular on their hazy body, they pulled out a flat purple rope. It looked familiar and Pete instantly felt sick in his gut. "Since you're clearly not paying attention, let's just get this game on with." Their mouth opened into a forced grin that displayed their inhumanly tiny teeth. An old farmer's sickle with a rusting blade appeared in their hand. Pete thought that something might have been engraved on the splintering handle, but he didn't have enough time to be certain. They cut the rope in one slick move and all the white turned to nothing. He had the sensation of falling backwards, followed by a quick chill and then nothing.


Peter Kowalski felt a pinch of relief mixed in with his regular dread as he hiccupped himself awake. His first thought was that he'd experienced the strangest dream of his life. He noticed that his dorm room mattress was much stiffer than normal. And then he heard an edged laugh that was all too familiar.


Author's Note: I'm not exactly sure what made me decide to write this, other than the fact that I like to have two projects going at once. I am in no way trying to glamorize suicide, nor am I attempting to make light of it. My intention is not for this fic to be all about the topic of suicide either. Instead, it will focus on the lives of our favorite boarding school students.

Part of me is thinking I should have just had Petey been involved in an accident or something instead.

Lastly, I reserve the right to change the rating.

Thanks to anyone reading this!