The heat wasn’t so bad along this stretch, but somehow he got the feeling that he’d made a wrong turn somewhere, however that had happened. His life had been spent trying to help people but he’d been in his fair share of trouble as well. No one had ever dared accused him of being perfect or charitable, but he’d tried. One of the many problems he’d had had been his temper, which flared out of control far too often. That had gotten him into trouble on multiple occasions.
But if this was the afterlife and he was supposed to be headed in one direction according to what he’d done to get here, then he must have slipped through a crack or pulled away from whatever guide was supposed to be making sure that he stayed on course. Nothing looked the way he’d imagined it would, nor did it feel as painful or as condemning as he’d been taught to believe when he was younger.
Those that committed suicide were supposed to burn from everything he’d heard and read, and he’d done himself in after the last bit of foolishness that had landed him in the biggest tangle of his adult life. It had been too much to deal with, so he’d debated over which way would be best to punch his own ticket.
A gunshot to the head seemed too messy, and besides, his family wouldn’t have deserved the added trauma since his suicide was already bound to have messed them up at this point. Slitting his wrists was just as messy and from what he’d read about it a person could botch the job pretty easily by slicing too deeply or not deeply enough. Hanging himself seemed like it would take too long and he wasn’t a big fan of pain, or the prospect of soiling himself and being found hanging over a puddle of his own urine and feces. Carbon monoxide poisoning seemed like it would have been a bit too distracting and allow him to chicken out and not do it.
So he’d upended a whole bottle of Tylenol and chased it with a fifth of the most potent liquor in the cupboard, a bottle of Jim Beam, and had unfortunately forgotten that even this caused a less than desirable reaction. It had taken a lot of willpower to just lie there and choke on his own vomit, and he still felt guilty about it since he’d probably made one hell of a mess in the process that his family would have to clean up.
But he was out of the picture and they were safe, and that was what mattered.
(to be continued)