A Quest for Purpose

His eyes melancholy, he crept into the parking spot ahead of him and braked to a stop. Trembling, he clenched the shifter and put the car in park. Then, turning off his car, and the sickeningly upbeat music along with it, he tightened his fists until they shook. He loosened them stiffly, wrapped them around the steering wheel and dropped his forehead until it came to rest on them. Feeling his shoulders begin to shake, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, fiercely fighting the urge to cry. But fight as he would, he could feel the tears sliding down his cheeks. Ire filling him out of spite for his weakness. He slammed his body into the back of his seat and dug his fingers into his scalp, clawing and ripping at his hair, silently mouthing one word over and over again in agony, why?

He sat there in excruciating silence and his shaking body slowed to a stop as his chin dropped to his chest, his tears wetting his sweater and soaking through his shirt. Shaking his head side to side as he lifted it, he wiped the tears from his face and gripped his door handle. As he pulled, he gave a lugubrious half-smile and exited the vehicle, his eyes downcast. Closing the door behind him, he opened the rear door of his car and wearily shouldered his backpack. He plodded towards the doors of the school, much resembling the look of a work-worn horse.

Upon entering the institution, his face morphed to a look of moderate content, and he gave a slight smile to the principal as he passed him by. But no amount of masking his feelings could hide the truth, and as he smiled, his eyes were downcast. The passing bell rang with the haunting toll of an iron bell, at least that was all he heard. And that was the only tone it had throughout the day.

Third period, he asked to be excused to use the restroom and his request was granted. He softly thanked the teacher and walked out of the room. As soon as he was out of the room, he slowed to a crawl as he trudged towards the restroom. As he settled in, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and produced a razor from behind his driver's license. As he turned it, the blade caught the light, flashing like a warning flare. He set it down, almost reverently, beside him and rolled up his left sleeve. He stared at his wrist, loathing himself for what he was about to do, but also thirsting after the pain. And in the darkness of his mind, he drew the blade across his wrist, gasping in a sick combination of pleasure and pain. He cut again . . . and again. When at last he had been satisfied, he grabbed some toilet paper to stem the beautiful flow of his blood and walked forward to the sink. Acting as though nothing had happened, he washed his arm clean, rolled his sleeve down and returned to class.

Yet for all he'd done, it was only minutes before the crushing cloud of depression overtook him once again. If skies were his mind, they'd be nothing but gray clouds; no lightning to bring life to the scene, and no thunder to break the oppressing silence.

At lunch, he stumbled to his car lost in thought. His head down, he missed seeing the car heading his way, and he failed to move until it blasted its horn and slammed on its brakes. It squealed to a stop, the tires leaving streaks on the cracked asphalt. The driver yelled at him, but he was too lost in his own mind to listen. He way trying to understand the incomprehensible utterances working their way through his thoughts. It was a constant flow of garbled speech, and each sentence was in another person's voice. I hate you. I hate your fear, your weakness, your stupid desires. When will you learn? I hate your foolish hopefulness. What's wrong with you? Don't you know, we all die anyway. What does another day mean? What's it worth if the end is the same? Does anyone even care? If you died, would they come to your funeral? Why are you godding those who don't care for you? Why are you so afraid of suicide? It's simply an invitation for the inevitable. Don't fight it, accept it. Nobody loves you anyway. It's so easy. It just takes a little, what are you waiting for?

He tried to fight the thoughts, but it was like running through the tar pits. No matter how hard you fight, in the end you'll lose. His mind was on fire and the smoke was blinding him. He was lost in a world he could not understand. Lost in his fight with himself, he was missing the esoteric meaning that he was seeking to find. And the anatomy of his thought was burning the last of his resolve.

He didn't come back from lunch that day. He drove to the bridge and stared over the edge. His motive was obvious, the voices in his head. And as he stood there, he realized something, the voices in his head were wrong, it wasn't easy, but it was possible. And it all boiled down to one thing, regardless of who would miss him, he was ready to go, and he wouldn't let anyone stop him. It's funny, he thought as he fell, this cowardly act is the bravest thing I've ever done. And just like that, he hit the surface of the water and sank below, a rueful half-smile frozen on his lips.

On the seat of his car sat two things, white roses, and a note. And the note read "These are just in case I get no other flowers. But there's just one thing I want you to know before I go, this life was just a circus. It was a rat race, and it was without purpose. It was a maze that could never be solved. For all its glory, in the end it was just one big game, and this time, like always, Death had the last laugh."