A random fictional story

I never had vertigo. I had gone trekking, climbed mountains, had even reached the top of the clock tower in college and could look down without feeling any dizziness, just the exhilaration of heights. But as I stood on that height of a mere three-and-a-half feet from the floor and looked down, I felt nauseated. Maybe it was the narrow standing platform, a square of only one feet by one feet. Or maybe it was the drug flowing through my veins. Or maybe it was just an outcome of my general depression. It was then that I closed my eyes for a second, perhaps to steady my nerves.

That momentary closure of eye brought forward a collage of images, memories of the last few days very vividly.

It was the phone call that started it. Yes it was. That phone call. Was it only yesterday? It seems like a whole era had passed by. I don't remember that conversation that well. Just snatches... "incompatibility"... "no time for each other"... "too busy"... "too late"... "best to end while goodness last"... I heard it all with surprising passivity. Maybe I was too numbed to react. Or maybe I was too far gone to care. Or maybe, simply, I already knew this. It hardly came as a surprise. I don't remember what I thought at that point. I don't remember why there was no tears that night, given my emotional disposition. The image that I do vividly remember from last night was the mouldy ceiling, that particular corner with its disgusting bottle green patches, the exact point I stared at for the entire hour the conversation continued. And possibly even for hours after that.

I think he did try to say he was sorry. He said he had no way out. He was claustrophobic. Or something like that. But I don't remember that part well. It was all hazy. I just stared at the ceiling, unaware of anything. And then the world formed around me again. That minute I gained clarity. I knew what I wanted to do.

I rubbed my hand around my neck. It hurt there.

Actually it went much before that phone call. I don't think I can put a time or date to it. It started with the small signs, things that one cannot put their fingers on. The mild irritations, the small fights. They slowly escalated into big fights. We shouted at each other, called each other names, cried, fought. But it happened so gradually that I cannot now make out the difference. The fights died down suddenly, unlike the gradual escalation. What followed could be best described as a lull. A long, stagnant lull before the final storm. Of course I didn't know it then. I took the indifference as actually a welcome sign, a relief.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, this phone call seems like the most logical step. And this the most likely conclusion.

A tear escaped my shut eyes. I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. My specs were lying on the bed. I told myself that was the reason everything was turning blurry. I lifted the back of my palm to wipe my wet cheeks.

Even through the blurred vision I could see the objects on my table lying in a disarray. The cheeky face in the picture made me smile even through my tears. My sister's face smiled back at me from the silver frame.

I can remember those summer days clearly. I can remember those green fields as we ran after each other. I can remember the jokes we privately share. I can remember the smile that lights up her face even when I come home now. And the tear she sheds in private the day I have to leave. I could suddenly feel the love we felt for each other running through my veins, warming me.

I smiled in spite of the situation.

On the table also lay the sunflower. It was impossible to miss the brightness even through my bad eyesight.

Yesterday morning I had picked it from the bouquet lying around. It still looked fresh. I can remember the good natured ribbing that followed because of the flower.

I suddenly felt protected.

I felt different. Maybe the effect of the drug was wearing off. Maybe I saw the bright side of life. Or maybe I was just not depressed anymore. In spite of the situation, I smiled. Life was all good.

I wanted to get off the uncomfortable foot stool. And I wanted to do it fast. Anyway I had gone far enough.

At that moment I lost my balance.

The unsteady stool tipped over. I had had no time to remove the rope. It tightened around my neck before my feet could reach the ground.