Fishman

Goodbye and Hello, Cruel World

I hear that drowning is the most pleasant way to die. I love the feel of the water, it makes you feel so weightless and free. Nobody can judge me down here. My name is Robert Fishman, some people call me Bobby, but I don't really like it that much. I spend most of my time playing video games. I own several consoles. I don't go outside very much. I ate nothing yesterday. And today, I had my last supper—got plans to eat anything else again. All I need in life is me, and my games.

Now that I lost the game, it's game over for me. Time to pull the plug on my miserable little life. I'll miss the games, I hope they get passed on to an avid game collector.

I like being alone, but I hate feeling lonely. The world gave up on me years ago. The only friends I ever truly have are numbness, tragedy and emptiness. I've been thinking out it for years. I have no real place in the world anymore. I can't be the laughing figure of the town forever.

Video games are the only thing that keep me going nowadays. But on the days when I can't even get out of bed in the morning, I ask myself, why am I still here? I have no idea what's going on in the outside world anymore. I don't even know if the Queen is still alive.

I only go out once a week. I hide in the cemeteries every Sunday, then walk around in the local aquarium or when there's no one around admire the flowers in the local park. I'd join in the church service...but I feel as if I'm not welcome there.

"Man up! You big puff!" Sarah's words vibrate in my head. It's been ten years since the divorce, and I can still hear her whinging echoing in my head. My ex-wife has always been a dominatrix. She likes being in control. We always argued. I don't know why she still uses my name. She made it clear by her actions that she was only interested in my money.

I don't know why. I'm on benefits – I get £400 a month. It barely covers my bills. The only reason I survive is because my grandpa always sends me money through online banking. For man in his 80's, he's got more charisma than me.

I rarely go on Facebook, but when I do, I see pictures of him dancing in every nightclub in England. He looks like one of those old pimps with his trench coat and Cuban cigars. It's creepy in a way, but he wants to go out with a bang. I wonder how many aunts and uncles I have out there in prams? He doesn't acknowledge any children other than my father and Uncle Ryan – and they died. My dad died from a diabetic coma and my uncle Ryan died in a car crash. In both cases, doctors blamed alcohol for their death.

As for my death, the doctors will pin it on the drugs in my breakfast muffins. Speaking of grandpa, he's sends me a message on his phone, "You need to go outside and get some fresh air!" All these things that Grandpa and other people tell me to do. It's okay for them – they don't suffer with depression the way I do. I know that they're only trying to help, but it's only making it worse. I've already made my mind up. I've had enough. It's time for me to go.

I don't know how to describe my depression. It's either an illness, or a madness, or both. I don't know how it got there, it won't leave. It's like a flame burning you in the inside. The monsters always knocking on your skull. I can't see these monsters and demons mocking me their own amusement, but I can feel them. They won't hurt me anymore.

Far away from my rotten suburb town, I breath in the Dutch air. I got here by train. Now that I'm standing on the docks of Amsterdam, I'm ready to do it. There's a nice Chinese Restaurant floating by the river. It's rightfully called Sea Palace. I'm glad I chose it as the place to have my last supper. It's better than the grubby takeaways in my street. It does nice food. I haven't eaten so much in a long time.

My feet are just a millimetre away from the water, I think of my last words – I thanked a waitress.

But I ask myself, what am I thankful for? I look at what's in my zipped pocket: an old set of rosary beads and a wedding ring. Why should I be thankful? Thankful for what could have been? Should I be grateful for all the things that are now gone from my life?