Chapter 2:
Accidents -are often on purpose-
The Death on Green (and the cat who always lands on foot)
We can’t change what we are. I think someone important said that.
Ever completed a puzzle? There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the full picture after placing every piece in its spot. Here, the picture was a reflection of how I was trying to cling to a sense of normalcy.
She was right—being analytical didn’t make me any less stupid. The taste of food, whether the plate was warm—in my head, it was an attempt at a normal dinner. For her, it was a reminder: she couldn’t taste or feel.
That’s when I understood her question about the cold.
I let the night drag on, slow and exhausting. I washed the dishes and put everything back where it belonged. Being suicidal doesn’t mean being messy, let me make that clear.
My room was at the end of the hall, so I had to pass by hers—the room I used to sleep in when I visited my grandma.
I wanted to knock on her door and talk. I was used to talking with her until I fell asleep, but besides being suicidal, I’m also a coward.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My head no longer had time for ordinary things, and she, from the very first day, was anything but ordinary, now that I think about it.
I met her—or rather, she found me—after I had a mental breakdown in the neighborhood store and tried to kill myself by drinking a bottle of bleach.
Yeah, I did it in public. Should’ve studied theater, huh?
They pumped my stomach and ran one of those routine psychiatric evaluations. It was too easy to make them believe it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, not a thought that had been swirling in my head since I moved to this town.
They kept me under observation for a few days, you know, to make sure I wouldn’t try again.
The hospital was small but decent. No complaints about the doctors or how they treated me. The little indoor garden was a nice spot to avoid feeling like a prisoner, so I spent most of my days sitting on a bench there.During the observation period, no patient tried to talk to me.
I didn’t try with them either. Complaining would be hypocritical.
On my last day there, while I was staring out the second-floor window, lost in the dozens of white coats bustling back and forth, a girl’s voice snapped me out of my trance with a silly question.
“Bleach…? Can’t say it’s original, and I can’t say it’s entirely effective… as you’ve probably noticed,” said the girl with black hair and amber eyes, staring at the same spot as me while critiquing me. “What I can say is… doing it in front of everyone? Was that some kind of protest or what?” she added, bursting into laughter.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I said.I tried to brush off her comment, but I wondered how she could know. She looked about my age, which threw me off even more. I might’ve let it slide if she’d been a doctor.
“Nope. You really want to die…” she said, glancing at me sideways without turning her head.
“I said it was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I repeated, annoyed.
“Were the cuts on your wrists spur-of-the-moment too?” she asked, finally turning her head, her gaze dropping to my arms before coming back up. “What about the mark on your neck?”
“They were spur-of-the-moment,” I said again.
“Is that all you know how to say or what?”
“Depends on the moment,” I replied. My voice sounded light in such a heavy atmosphere.
She let out a loud laugh. I thought I’d managed to annoy her, but it seemed to amuse her instead.
“So… when’s your next attempt?” she asked, scooting a bit closer to me on the bench.
“There won’t be a next attempt… I just… had a bad day, that’s all…”
“Is that what you said the eight…? No! Nine times before? To be exact.
”If my eyes had opened any wider, they probably would’ve fallen to the floor. I could pass that she knew about the bleach—the marks on my wrists and neck were easy to spot—but the exact number? “How the hell…?” I couldn’t even finish the question before my voice gave out.
“Was it when you came here, or did you come here thinking something would change?”
“Shut up.”
“Was it when your phone started ringing less and less, or when everyone stopped calling? Or because no one ever called?”
“I’m telling you to shut up.”
“If you asked me…”
“But I’m not asking you.”
“…I’d say… it was when you realized everyone seemed to know how to move forward… except you,” she concluded, tilting her head like there was background music.
I stood up abruptly. I’ll admit, I was more scared than angry at that moment.
She, on the other hand, watched me with a smile, slowly swinging her legs on the bench.
“Who the hell are you…?”
“It’s gonna sound dumb if I say it outright,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “And I’d suggest you lower your voice. You’re a few hours from going home—it’d be a shame if they thought you were a little unhinged.”
“Anyone would react like this in this situation!”
“We agree on that, but this isn’t a normal situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around, dummy…” she said calmly, stretching her arms like someone finishing a workout.
“Don’t change the—” I started, but not only the patients, even the doctors using the garden to smoke, had their eyes fixed on me. “What’s going on?”
I felt nauseous.
“Uhm… you’re talking to me, yeah, but to them…” She stood up with a little hop and walked toward me. She whispered, “…you’re talking to yourself.”
“…I don’t get it…” I said, focusing on everyone’s stares around me.
“What’s not to get? Oh… right… Is it because of how I look? You know, that whole robe, scythe, and skeleton thing is just a story,” she said, laughing as she stepped back. “I came to take your soul.” she whispered, faking a deep voice.
In amusement parks, there are those cheesy games like haunted houses—poorly made, meant for kids—but when you’re in one of those dark hallways and hear a bang on the wall, you jump. You freeze.
That’s exactly what happened to me when I heard her speak.Had I gone crazy? Didn’t matter. Part of my brain knew something about her wasn’t natural.
“Hey, that last part was a joke,” she said, giving me a gentle nudge on the head. “Guess I need to work on my humor...”
I didn’t answer.
“I know you’re gonna try to kill yourself again. I can see it in your eyes—there’s nothing left there.”
“So you came to help me?” I asked, finally regaining enough composure to speak.
“The opposite. I came to make sure you don’t.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do the opposite?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“You know…”
“Uh-huh. Go on…”
“…Death…?”
“Bingo!”
It’s been almost a month since that day, and honestly, I wanted to say a lot to her back then.
But tonight, I just wanted to tell her it was colder than all the other nights.
Ever completed a puzzle? There’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the full picture after placing every piece in its spot. Here, the picture was a reflection of how I was trying to cling to a sense of normalcy.
She was right—being analytical didn’t make me any less stupid. The taste of food, whether the plate was warm—in my head, it was an attempt at a normal dinner. For her, it was a reminder: she couldn’t taste or feel.
That’s when I understood her question about the cold.
I let the night drag on, slow and exhausting. I washed the dishes and put everything back where it belonged. Being suicidal doesn’t mean being messy, let me make that clear.
My room was at the end of the hall, so I had to pass by hers—the room I used to sleep in when I visited my grandma.
I wanted to knock on her door and talk. I was used to talking with her until I fell asleep, but besides being suicidal, I’m also a coward.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My head no longer had time for ordinary things, and she, from the very first day, was anything but ordinary, now that I think about it.
I met her—or rather, she found me—after I had a mental breakdown in the neighborhood store and tried to kill myself by drinking a bottle of bleach.
Yeah, I did it in public. Should’ve studied theater, huh?
They pumped my stomach and ran one of those routine psychiatric evaluations. It was too easy to make them believe it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, not a thought that had been swirling in my head since I moved to this town.
They kept me under observation for a few days, you know, to make sure I wouldn’t try again.
The hospital was small but decent. No complaints about the doctors or how they treated me. The little indoor garden was a nice spot to avoid feeling like a prisoner, so I spent most of my days sitting on a bench there.During the observation period, no patient tried to talk to me.
I didn’t try with them either. Complaining would be hypocritical.
On my last day there, while I was staring out the second-floor window, lost in the dozens of white coats bustling back and forth, a girl’s voice snapped me out of my trance with a silly question.
“Bleach…? Can’t say it’s original, and I can’t say it’s entirely effective… as you’ve probably noticed,” said the girl with black hair and amber eyes, staring at the same spot as me while critiquing me. “What I can say is… doing it in front of everyone? Was that some kind of protest or what?” she added, bursting into laughter.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I said.I tried to brush off her comment, but I wondered how she could know. She looked about my age, which threw me off even more. I might’ve let it slide if she’d been a doctor.
“Nope. You really want to die…” she said, glancing at me sideways without turning her head.
“I said it was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I repeated, annoyed.
“Were the cuts on your wrists spur-of-the-moment too?” she asked, finally turning her head, her gaze dropping to my arms before coming back up. “What about the mark on your neck?”
“They were spur-of-the-moment,” I said again.
“Is that all you know how to say or what?”
“Depends on the moment,” I replied. My voice sounded light in such a heavy atmosphere.
She let out a loud laugh. I thought I’d managed to annoy her, but it seemed to amuse her instead.
“So… when’s your next attempt?” she asked, scooting a bit closer to me on the bench.
“There won’t be a next attempt… I just… had a bad day, that’s all…”
“Is that what you said the eight…? No! Nine times before? To be exact.
”If my eyes had opened any wider, they probably would’ve fallen to the floor. I could pass that she knew about the bleach—the marks on my wrists and neck were easy to spot—but the exact number? “How the hell…?” I couldn’t even finish the question before my voice gave out.
“Was it when you came here, or did you come here thinking something would change?”
“Shut up.”
“Was it when your phone started ringing less and less, or when everyone stopped calling? Or because no one ever called?”
“I’m telling you to shut up.”
“If you asked me…”
“But I’m not asking you.”
“…I’d say… it was when you realized everyone seemed to know how to move forward… except you,” she concluded, tilting her head like there was background music.
I stood up abruptly. I’ll admit, I was more scared than angry at that moment.
She, on the other hand, watched me with a smile, slowly swinging her legs on the bench.
“Who the hell are you…?”
“It’s gonna sound dumb if I say it outright,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “And I’d suggest you lower your voice. You’re a few hours from going home—it’d be a shame if they thought you were a little unhinged.”
“Anyone would react like this in this situation!”
“We agree on that, but this isn’t a normal situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look around, dummy…” she said calmly, stretching her arms like someone finishing a workout.
“Don’t change the—” I started, but not only the patients, even the doctors using the garden to smoke, had their eyes fixed on me. “What’s going on?”
I felt nauseous.
“Uhm… you’re talking to me, yeah, but to them…” She stood up with a little hop and walked toward me. She whispered, “…you’re talking to yourself.”
“…I don’t get it…” I said, focusing on everyone’s stares around me.
“What’s not to get? Oh… right… Is it because of how I look? You know, that whole robe, scythe, and skeleton thing is just a story,” she said, laughing as she stepped back. “I came to take your soul.” she whispered, faking a deep voice.
In amusement parks, there are those cheesy games like haunted houses—poorly made, meant for kids—but when you’re in one of those dark hallways and hear a bang on the wall, you jump. You freeze.
That’s exactly what happened to me when I heard her speak.Had I gone crazy? Didn’t matter. Part of my brain knew something about her wasn’t natural.
“Hey, that last part was a joke,” she said, giving me a gentle nudge on the head. “Guess I need to work on my humor...”
I didn’t answer.
“I know you’re gonna try to kill yourself again. I can see it in your eyes—there’s nothing left there.”
“So you came to help me?” I asked, finally regaining enough composure to speak.
“The opposite. I came to make sure you don’t.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do the opposite?”
“Who do you think I am?”
“You know…”
“Uh-huh. Go on…”
“…Death…?”
“Bingo!”
It’s been almost a month since that day, and honestly, I wanted to say a lot to her back then.
But tonight, I just wanted to tell her it was colder than all the other nights.
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