"Once more into the fray..

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

Live and die on this day.

Live and die on this day."

-The Grey

It was time for the next three steps. His right hand extended towards the old mirror, pulled the corner towards him, and then hung in the air for just a second before it reached for the dark orange bottle. The momentum required to lift it was overestimated—he had forgotten that an object’s weight and power shared no necessary relationship—so it flung towards his frail body.

The rattle of the pills made the situation more real. Was this it? Should he call anyone first?

No, no, his note was ready. He had prepared everything.

His left hand clenched the edge of the cold countertop. Suddenly he could feel the tile of the floors on his bare feet. A wave of shiver started at his ankle, trembled through the back of his thigh and spine, and ended where his shoulders met his neck.

He could only feel pity and sorrow as he considered his life. His downfall had come from an accumulation of thirty years of small decisions. He was not a lazy man, no, but his actions had been lazy. Not at work, no, but in taking control of a place in a family. The inconveniences that he needed to have taken every week for his son and daughter hadn’t been taken, and lo, at sixty-five years old his children were not interested in investing in him.

But hadn’t he showed up at their concerts? He hadn’t missed a single one! Hadn’t he worked day and night at the cleaners, wiping his eyes with chemicals, bending his frail back, to send them to college? He had done what had needed to be done.

He had decided his story was now over. There was no rewind button in life, and no one would miss him just as they did not now. He was tired of coming into consciousness each morning and being awake each night. The fear of life’s end hadn’t subsided, but an eternal rest appealed to him. It was true that people in his situation were fleeing life more than embracing death.

Now it was time for his legs to step in. He shook his feet off the bathroom floor and willed them towards the bedroom. As half his toes curled the carpet of the hallway, the silence of his apartment was cut by a shrewd ring.

Fear rushed through him. No! This was not supposed to be happening! He rushed towards the noise and found a photo of his daughter filling his cell phone with the letters: “Slide to Answer” and “Hang Up”.

His fingers moved themselves.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dad. Sorry I missed your call last week. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, of course. What have you been up to? How is business? How is Mom?”

“She’s good, and business is fine. I’ve been having trouble with some things.”

“You can get through it. What’s going on?”

He tried to control his voice.

Maybe he could make things right.

He kept talking.

"Once more into the fray..

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

Live and die on this day.

Live and die on this day."

-The Grey

It was time for the next three steps. His right hand extended towards the old mirror, pulled the corner towards him, and then hung in the air for just a second before it reached for the dark orange bottle. The momentum required to lift it was overestimated—he had forgotten that an object’s weight and power shared no necessary relationship—so it flung towards his frail body.

The rattle of the pills made the situation more real. Was this it? Should he call anyone first?

No, no, his note was ready. He had prepared everything.

His left hand clenched the edge of the cold countertop. Suddenly he could feel the tile of the floors on his bare feet. A wave of shiver started at his ankle, trembled through the back of his thigh and spine, and ended where his shoulders met his neck.

He could only feel pity and sorrow as he considered his life. His downfall had come from an accumulation of thirty years of small decisions. He was not a lazy man, no, but his actions had been lazy. Not at work, no, but in taking control of a place in a family. The inconveniences that he needed to have taken every week for his son and daughter hadn’t been taken, and lo, at sixty-five years old his children were not interested in investing in him.

But hadn’t he showed up at their concerts? He hadn’t missed a single one! Hadn’t he worked day and night at the cleaners, wiping his eyes with chemicals, bending his frail back, to send them to college? He had done what had needed to be done.

He had decided his story was now over. There was no rewind button in life, and no one would miss him just as they did not now. He was tired of coming into consciousness each morning and being awake each night. The fear of life’s end hadn’t subsided, but an eternal rest appealed to him. It was true that people in his situation were fleeing life more than embracing death.

Now it was time for his legs to step in. He shook his feet off the bathroom floor and willed them towards the bedroom. As half his toes curled the carpet of the hallway, the silence of his apartment was cut by a shrewd ring.

Fear rushed through him. No! This was not supposed to be happening! He rushed towards the noise and found a photo of his daughter filling his cell phone with the letters: “Slide to Answer” and “Hang Up”.

His fingers moved themselves.

“Hello?”

“Hi Dad. Sorry I missed your call last week. How are you doing?”

“I’m good, of course. What have you been up to? How is business? How is Mom?”

“She’s good, and business is fine. I’ve been having trouble with some things.”

“You can get through it. What’s going on?”

He tried to control his voice.

Maybe he could make things right.

He kept talking.