Hey, this chapter is about Miroku. And I think this is honestly the way he
would kill himself. Simple and yet, complex. R&R PLEASE haha.
****************************************************************************
*
Chapter 1: Hangman
I knew it had to gone wrong from the moment the chair slipped out of my fingers. It was supposed to be quick, there was supposed to be a sharp jerk, and then, nothing. Sweet oblivion, but not this...
I scrambled desperately with the rope, trying to loosen in, trying to get my head out of the noose. If only I could get free, I could do this again properly! This was no way to die, slowly, suffocating to death, feeling myself die in sections, in easy monthly payments. If I wanted to die slowly, I would have taken anything BUT this.
The rope burned my neck, and for an insane moment, I regretted not buying better rope. And I still could not get my fingers under the rope. I had done too good a job, tied it good and proper, so I had no hope of tearing off the accursed thing. All the while, it became harder and harder to breathe, as my body became my own worst enemy, pulling me down against the rope holding me up.
I struggled for breath, and kicked out my legs, trying to free myself, hoping to reach something that I may anchor myself against, so that I may relax and pull off the rope. But the harder that I struggled, the tighter the noose became. It bit into my neck, and I couldn't even cry out for help. I could feel blood vessels constrict in my throat, and through the pressure of the rope, could feel the pulse of my .
I was choking, and it felt like a cough that I couldn't quite get out. My throat was closed, and I could neither take breath, nor swallow. My eyes were bulging, I was certain, for I could feel them poking out of my sockets. I shut my eyes, for I feared that they may pop out, an odd fear for someone about to die, but something that made sense at the moment. My ears were beginning to whistle, as though I was in a wind tunnel, and I could hear nothing but a thousand tons of air pushing past me.
And all the time, the rope burned against my neck. It chafed against my skin, and it burned like hell's fire. It rolled and unrolled over my skin, as I struggled, but it made little difference, for the rope gave no sign of yielding. And the ceiling fixture, that I had always feared would fall on my head as I was cleaning it, hung as firmly as though it were a part of the entire structure.
My thoughts grew fuzzy, and suddenly, I was merely choking on a bit of meat that had gone the wrong way. And I tried to cough it up, but someone had fixed their thumbs up against my throat. I tried to push them away, but they danced away, and my hands met nothing but air.
My bladder gave way, and then, so did my rectum, and to the acrid smell of my own stench, it all went black...and then, finally, sweet oblivion.
I knew it had to gone wrong from the moment the chair slipped out of my fingers. It was supposed to be quick, there was supposed to be a sharp jerk, and then, nothing. Sweet oblivion, but not this...
I scrambled desperately with the rope, trying to loosen in, trying to get my head out of the noose. If only I could get free, I could do this again properly! This was no way to die, slowly, suffocating to death, feeling myself die in sections, in easy monthly payments. If I wanted to die slowly, I would have taken anything BUT this.
The rope burned my neck, and for an insane moment, I regretted not buying better rope. And I still could not get my fingers under the rope. I had done too good a job, tied it good and proper, so I had no hope of tearing off the accursed thing. All the while, it became harder and harder to breathe, as my body became my own worst enemy, pulling me down against the rope holding me up.
I struggled for breath, and kicked out my legs, trying to free myself, hoping to reach something that I may anchor myself against, so that I may relax and pull off the rope. But the harder that I struggled, the tighter the noose became. It bit into my neck, and I couldn't even cry out for help. I could feel blood vessels constrict in my throat, and through the pressure of the rope, could feel the pulse of my .
I was choking, and it felt like a cough that I couldn't quite get out. My throat was closed, and I could neither take breath, nor swallow. My eyes were bulging, I was certain, for I could feel them poking out of my sockets. I shut my eyes, for I feared that they may pop out, an odd fear for someone about to die, but something that made sense at the moment. My ears were beginning to whistle, as though I was in a wind tunnel, and I could hear nothing but a thousand tons of air pushing past me.
And all the time, the rope burned against my neck. It chafed against my skin, and it burned like hell's fire. It rolled and unrolled over my skin, as I struggled, but it made little difference, for the rope gave no sign of yielding. And the ceiling fixture, that I had always feared would fall on my head as I was cleaning it, hung as firmly as though it were a part of the entire structure.
My thoughts grew fuzzy, and suddenly, I was merely choking on a bit of meat that had gone the wrong way. And I tried to cough it up, but someone had fixed their thumbs up against my throat. I tried to push them away, but they danced away, and my hands met nothing but air.
My bladder gave way, and then, so did my rectum, and to the acrid smell of my own stench, it all went black...and then, finally, sweet oblivion.