Prayers for His Demise...

Dear Readers,

My days blurred into nights, each moment swallowed by an abyss of despair. The voices in my head relentless and venomous gnawed at my sanity.

“You’re useless,” they hissed. “Ungrateful. A waste of air.”

They were always there, taunting me with cruel clarity. I tried to drown them out with alcohol, but their whispers only grew louder, more insistent.

“End it,” they urged. “You have nothing. You are nothing.”

I had tried to escape the torment before. A bottle of pills, a blade to my wrist, a leap from the bridge even smoke inhalation, each attempt met with failure. Even in death, I couldn’t succeed. My failures only added fuel to the voices.

“Pathetic,” they laughed. “You can’t even die properly.”

My wife, once my anchor, had long since turned cold. Frustration and contempt replaced the love we once shared.

“Just go and die somewhere,” she spat one evening, her voice devoid of empathy. “We don’t need you.”

Her words stung more than any knife could. My heart, already fractured, shattered completely. Even my own blood had abandoned me. The townspeople, too, echoed my wife’s sentiments. Whispers followed me wherever I went.

“He’s a burden,” they said. “Better off gone.”

The weight of their scorn pressed down on me until I couldn’t breathe. I wandered the streets, a ghost of the man I once was. My gaunt face and hollow eyes frightened children and repelled adults. I sought solace in the corners of the town, hiding from their disdain, but the voices never let me be.

One stormy night, I climbed to the top of an abandoned building. Rain lashed against my frail body as I stood on the edge, staring down at the darkened streets below. Lightning illuminated the town that had forsaken me, each flashed a stark reminder of my insignificance.

“Jump,” the voices commanded. “End this misery. They’ll be relieved.”

But I hesitated, the last flicker of my will battling the darkness. Memories of my younger days crept into my mind my first home, the laughter of my children, the feeling of sawdust on my hands as I built a life with my own strength. Those moments felt like a cruel joke now, a glimpse of a world that had rejected me.

“You don’t belong here,” the voices reminded me. “You never did.”

With a final, shuddering breath, I stepped forward. The air rushed past me, the world spinning in a chaotic blur. For a moment, there was silence. The voices stopped. Then came the impact, a brutal, unforgiving end to my torment.

The next morning, the townspeople found my broken body sprawled in the alley below. There was no outpouring of grief, no reflection on their role in my demise. Instead, they muttered among themselves, their words dripping with indifference.

“What a mess,” one said.

“Well, it was bound to happen,” another replied.

They moved on, leaving my lifeless form as a testament to their collective neglect.

Somewhere, in the stillness of death, I found the silence I had longed for. But my story lingered in the shadows, a haunting reminder of what happens when humanity turns a blind eye to suffering.

Therefore no one cares…

Jacob M