She is sitting calmly in room 28. The means to her end are on the old-fashioned and worn bedside table.
She doesn’t feel any guilt or doubt about her decision. Why should she? She wants out and it’s nobody’s business but her own.
She feels nothing, although if probed, she would admit to a small sense of relief drifting through the vast nothingness that inhabits her.
Going under, leaving it all behind while the squawks of the seagulls echo outside her window feels – just – right. Exactly as it should be.
She specifically asked for room 28 – her whole purposeless existence and a smidgen of irony has led her to this very room.
In room 28, she is going to put an end to her 28 years on this earth – shuffle off this mortal coil – cut all ties to a world she cares nothing for.
In room 28, she is going to lay down and peacefully wait for the nothing to engulf her.
In room 28, time slows down and eventually stops as the outside world fades away.
Author’s note (how pretentious of me): as I was coming up to the top of a very steep street a couple of weeks ago, I was faced with this building I’ve seen hundreds of times before, and this idea suddenly came to me; what could be going on inside I wondered? And this tragic story popped into my head right there and then, standing in the sunshine surrounded by pedestrians and traffic. Why so morbid? I have no idea. But my ideas usually come out of nowhere like that (which makes me a total freak in the eyes of some, and an ‘artist’ in the eyes of others) and either fade away to nothing once I mull over them – or persist and keep nagging somewhere at the back of my mind which means they need to be told. This short tale was one of the latter.