Marcel had never been a big fan of suicide; even though, at this point in his life, all situations, all the many thoughts in his head came down to only one thing; jumping off that window the view of which he enjoyed every day and to end it right then and there. But Marcel knew much better than that, he knew that, jumping off that window would not really be then end of what he felt needed closure, no, jumping off would only be to him, a temporary alleviation of this recurring pain they had labeled as Life.

His problem was the memories he had never had from certain phases of his childhood. Only fragments, bits and pieces which didn’t help at all. He needed to have a childhood in his heart; something to cling to every now and then and feel good about. About his bitter, difficult life; his life was not miserable, but difficult, it definitely was. He of all people really needed a childhood. But whenever he looked back, he would realize more, how little there was to hold onto. For instance, he didn’t remember ANY of his childhood birthdays, except for the one he had repeatedly caught on video tape; the one in which the camera man had decided that filming the ugly antics of a distant cousin of his in that ugly pink woolen dress more interesting than filming Marcel on his own birthday. In that video, in the few things that Marcel could see himself, he had noticed time and again the look of discontent in his eyes. As if the situation had beguiled him, betrayed him in a way; as if Life had been a liar all along; to a 5 year old, this could be quite a burden.

All he could remember of his childhood were those moments of curiosity. Those moments that always made him end up in less-than-pleasant situations. Alone, on the piano seat, next to him; someone uttering these words: “put your hand here.” And another angry voice coming from the other side: “put your hand WHERE?!” a voice telling him: “lie down”; and he doing it simply because he had been told to do so. Indeed, he had been a submissive individual all his life; a slave to the choice of others; anyone’s choice but his. This had hurt him all along; today, more than ever. He thought, he used to be much stronger as that child, whose childhood he couldn’t- for the life of him-recall. He thought he had helped the child heal at some point; but turns out, that little child had gone through much more to be healed this easily…or at all.

He was writing to Marcel today; for Marcel. Hoping he could somehow reach out to a memory in the past of a soul whose whole existence had been scattered through the realm of his many lost moments. He thought, perhaps his words could trace back the many tears which had never been shed; his many moments of suffocated silence, present in the lost look he could now see in photographs from those days; or even in the mirror at times.

Marcel’s thoughts yet lingered, as he lied there on his bed; as good as dead; with a severe case of zetlessness and blues. The window which beheld the most amazing view he had ever seen was the only source of interest to him these days; it was in a way, calling him. He listened. All he could hear was: “come. Jump. Be free.”

But Marcel knew better than that. Marcel had nothing to lose and yet…

And yet…

He was afraid of not losing himself; but of losing this bitter sensation in which he had invested for as long as his bitter lifetime. This lifetime though, had not ever been bitter; it hadn’t been all tears and pain; no, for those scarce moments of joy, he longed for and desired. He closed his tearful eyes and tried to reach out for the universe. He asked the universe to embrace his shattered soul; his severed being…

The universe replied none. It was just his own voice which echoed back to him: “no, you’re not going to do it. You are a survivor and this pain is not eternal. This too, shall pass and you know it. You know it very well. You know much better than this. You are powerful. They envy you. Give them a reason to keep doing that. You are a performer. Finish this act in all your glory. Kill it!”

And Marcel lived ever after…

January 2013

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