I sat there for a long time. Or for what seemed like a long time to me. Just sat there and stared. At everything. The trees, the weeds, the green leaves, the dead leaves. Hundreds of them scattered all around me. People walked past me, busy, stressed, and unheeding. And I just sat there.
I could feel the blood flowing down my wrist, slowly, and then dripping down into the grass below. It must have rained here, because the soil seemed soft and I could see the red fluid being soaked in. The soil seemed almost thirsty for my blood. As if I was late for some pre-destined meeting and now that I was here, it would take in its share; and more.
I really didn’t feel any pain. Of course the first cut had hurt, the blade hadn’t been that sharp after all. And I did feel weak, but that was to be expected. After all my healthy heart had been pumping so much of my blood out into the open. It was all so ironic. The very pumping that keeps everyone alive was pumping the life out of me.
Stupid heart. As always.
I could feel the dizziness spreading over me. I shifted my hand slightly, glanced at my watch and slid back into my repose. Six thirty and the sun had almost gone down. My blood soaked sleeve felt sticky and cold. For the first time I felt a shred of doubt about what I was doing. Nothing happened.
Just all of a sudden I asked myself, was it my time already? Was this how all was supposed to end?
For me, anyway? But then I realised the answers didn’t matter. I was leaving anyway. Leaving for a place where I hoped the mundane occurrences in the life of an eighteen year old didn’t matter. I remembered a movie, the protagonist dreaming of a place far beyond this realm where the concepts of ‘right and wrong’ and ‘now and then’ didn’t matter.
I knew I was dying, and it was not at all horrific, not in the sense it is always portrayed. For one, I had planned it. It did seem a bit sad; a tad disappointing, but that was all. In that moment I was overwhelmed by the insignificance of my existence. And why not. There are simply so many of us.
By now I had been observing a small sparrow for quite a while. Chirping, hopping and feeding in all the glory of freedom it possessed. Then came the meow of a pet cat, a streak of black fur, panicked fluttering, a strangled squak and then the appreciative chuckle of the cat’s owner. I almost stood up for the bird.
And then I blacked out.