I tried to focus on the little things. They were the only happy ones, the flashes of perfection, that didn't matter. They were things like the clear blue sky ahead of me, through my bedroom window, the familiar grey carpet tickling the soles of my feet, or the smooth movement of my school tie as it slid through my fingers. They were silly things, I suppose, but they are what I remember.
The day was unremarkable. I had no motivation to attend school, and so was at home, my parents having fled to their workplaces at an inhumanly early hour. They would return at six, perhaps bearing a pizza for dinner, expecting to find me here, as though I had attended school like the model daughter I used to be. Today, I wouldn't even have to intercept the call about my habit of skipping class. Today, perfectly planned and long anticipated, had a much better outcome than a few hours of freedom. I vaguely remember smiling at the thought.
The tie well knotted, I slipped it around my neck and reached around the corner. My hands touched first the closet door, off its hinges, and then skimmed along hangers until I felt the comforting texture of a plain, black, zip-up hoody. It slid from the hanger at my slight tug, and I pulled it on, zipping it up and holding the fabric to my face. For a minute, I simply relished the scent of the sweater, which was that of the autumn – damp leaves, pencil shavings, and a new chill in the air. I would die in this hoody as I had lived in it, I told myself then, and stood up.
In the center of the room, I had once hung a basket of flowers during my hippie stage several years previously. The flowers had died long since, and the basket been taken, but the sturdy hook by which it had hung from the ceiling remained, and it was this that I stood under. In front of me was a set of drawers and the window, displaying a view of the wind-battered patio, hedge, and tiny lawn behind the house. On my left was an alcove containing my bed, the closet, and a few shelves. Beanie babies hid, scrunched into the edges of my bed, and a couple of shirts obscured the purple plastic reading lamp. Opposite this mess was an overflowing computer desk, the computer itself perched on top of a low bookcase full of comics and magazines, and the door. The crowning glory of my room, however, lay behind me. It was a mural of four people, three men and a woman, standing at a window. Two of the men and the woman are on the inside, looking blankly out, ignoring the third man. He has a hand pressed to the glass, and looks over his shoulder into my room. The words Para-Saint: Anywhere Else snake across the bottom of the painting, announcing the name of the group – my favorite band – and of their most recent album. Almost subconsciously, I turned and paced the three steps to the wall, lightly touching the painted face of the man standing alone on my side of the window. He was Jared Payne, bassist and lyricist for Para-Saint, and I had, at that point, a near obsession with him.
I quickly turned away from the mural, remembering my purpose, and returned to the centre of the room. With a slight, conspiratorial smile, I looped my index finger under my tie at the base of my neck, and flipped it to lie on the outside of my sweater. This done, I stepped onto my desk chair and bent over until I could reach the hook in the center of my room, and attach my tie to it.
I don't remember feeling any pain, or anything at all, really. Almost right away, I was not hanging but floating. Much like the dreams I had experienced when I was younger, I was suspended in a black and white sky. Through a sense of calm and contentment, so foreign to my life, I was aware of only a vague discomfort around my neck. Although my eyes were closed, I could see in the dim distance a pretty girl in black, smiling sweetly and walking towards me. I tried to move to meet her, but found I could not, so I remained, floating. A breeze whispered around my face, wiping away every tear that had ever been on it.
Suddenly, the girl was not smiling. She looked uncertain, then confused, and, in turn, a little upset. I wanted to move forward to comfort her, but found I could not. Flailing, but unable to make my muscles respond, I gave up on my hopeless legs and opened my eyes, just as I felt myself crumple to the ground.