Another Can

A plain, undecorated can sat in his hands. The company's name printed clearly, a mountain lay behind those words. An unremarkable can. Its percentage is small and in the corner, almost unnoticeable. No warnings. We are meant to already understand the cans danger. He was meant to know. Maybe he already did.

What a life he had lived, it was love at first sight, they were so young, so naïve. 15. She was already pregnant, and the young wasn’t even his own. Yet he raised it as such. Passion, love and trust was thrust together into a web, soon two more young had come. Both his own this time. All joined together into a picture perfect family, the suburban dream. He was the best car salesman in the north island, his awards told as such. Constant holidays, and a happy wife. Was she happy? Was he happy? A drink after work to numb the pain became the norm, until he started drinking so much he could forget. Arguments became frequent in the once tranquil house. Once a closely knitted family, now unraveled till nothing was left. Nothing but a looming divorce.

His chest heaved, a painful cough escaping. A moldy ceiling leered over him, spinning around and around like a roulette table. Lying on his back hurt. But so did sitting up-right. He clung to the can, it was his life-line. Hand numb, his drooling began, and breathing became a chore. Much like a defiant youth, he didn't want to do it. Gurgling, his misplaced laughter erupted into the air. The small, dank room filled with the foreign sound. Walls too thin to contain such a joyous noise, surely his neighbours could hear. A sudden thought erupted into his mind and consumed its entirety. How will his little girls cope? What a rubbish thought. Little could hardly be used to describe his fully grown, adult children, all with families of their own. And they could cope just fine, better off without a deadbeat father begging for money. His life was worthless. Pointless. His stomach began to churn. Be it from the excessive drugs and alcohol mixing, or such a depressing thought he did not know. Lying still, a smile coated his lips. No more struggle to live, this was such an attractive thought. At least his girls could take his life's savings, not that there was much, at least his life would end up meaning something. Iron coated his mouth and he began to choke. But first he passed out, hoping to never wake again.

Divorce was clear that winter. Jewelry could not keep his now materialistic wife happy, and alcohol wasn’t keeping him happy. Continuous tardy at work, and being caught inebriated onsite multiple times left the company with no choice. He was let go.

One by one they all left. Spiraling, he could barely remember what happiness meant. On a benefit, he could only afford the bare minimum of essentials. Rent in his crappy complex, shitty ready made microwave meals, and alcohol. A lot. He took to walking everyday, all day, with no job and no family he was left with plenty of empty time. Walking allowed him to not think. As well as finding half used cigarettes, one man's trash now his treasure. Occasionally money, sometimes dropped pills. Those were his favorite finds.

He teetered with the idea of suicide, was it even worth the effort? It was. He had attempted three times officially, the others no one was called and he was left to wake up in his own bile. The attempts left him a shell. Empty. He was losing himself ever so slowly. Was he even human, he could not tell.

His eyes split open, and his body convulsed. Dilated pupils spoke a 1000 words, he had felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Perhaps jumped from an airplane with no parachute, and was now making impact. His chest felt like it had collapsed. Had it? Tears pricked his eyes and splashed down his cheeks, his wrinkly face distorted. Raising his arms he clawed at his sensitive throat. Begging for an airway. Begging for the sweet, refreshing breath of crisp air. Oh god, what a cruel way for his inevitable death. None of his attempts felt like this. Was this it? Were his eyes doomed to never open again? Never to step foot outside his cramped room again, to see what he now realized was a beautiful world. He breathed in deeply, inhaling his own bile, creating more, he choked once again. His esophagus was now fully blocked, breathing became an impossible task. Stomach pushed in and out, worming around on the floor, his eyes clenched shut. Unimaginable pain. The can now knocked over, it lay forgotten. Now it spilt all over his concrete floor. This wasn’t a peaceful death. Panic overtook him in his final moments. His whole life he had scoffed at religion, yet he begged to “god”. Don’t let me die. Please dear god. I’ll be a better man. Just one more breath. I don't want nothing. I was wrong ple-

The soft sound of birds singing coated the air, and their wings spread covering the sky. Trees swayed in the wind, perhaps inviting the birds to land on them. Below, the certain smell of death seeped out of his house from under the door crack. In the far off distance, an ambulance and police rushed through school traffic to deduce what was going on. Neighbors stood around, whispering. All was seemingly at peace, his death had no impact yet. So quickly forgotten his lifeless body lay. Next to it the can eerily sat. His angel of death lay in wait for him to be found.