Just because I've decided to die doesn't mean I will. I could just lose both my arms and disfigure my face beyond repair. I could lose my vision and end up spending the rest of my life at the mercy of a guard dog. I could break my back and end up pacing in the wheelchair up and down the long, dark corridoor. Wondering where my wife is. What is she doing? Who's she doing?
It is thoughts like these that still have me standing on the edge of the ledge. In addition, to the fact that I'm a coward. Throughout life and even at the doors of death.
Before I start vomiting my story, word by word, line by line, I have a confession - My life is not a page-turner. It's not a thriller. It's not light drama. Or heavy action. Do not expect ooooooohs and aaaaaaaaaaahs. At best, it's an Oh.
If I was a punctuation mark I would be more like a coma and less like an exclamation mark. If I was a salad dressing I would be more likely to be a mayonaise, rather than a wasabi. Point being I'm not an acquired taste. I'm the regular stuff. Not by choice. Ordinariness is never by choice. Even an ordinary man like me knows that.
Aspiring to write about a life like mine should be grounds for an arrest under section 11B - B is for Boredom. This is the level of my jokes. This is the level of pretty much my everything. Grade B. Second fiddle. Fourth option for anything.
For some mind-numbing reason I'm still writing and you're still reading, so for mutual convenience let's call me something. A? No, that could be confused for an indefinite article in a sentence. Junk that. I'll pick D. Why? Because I'm the author and picking the name of the characters is one of the perks of the job. D is not a shortform for anything. It's not the missing piece in the puzzle that will unfold on the last page. It doesn't stand for anything. My 44 years of breathing, eating, working, sleeping and fucking don't stand for anything. So why should this? Then it's decided. D it is.
I am D. D is me. And I'm standing on the ledge of Cantar Towers, convincing my sorry self to jump down. I should've planned this better. I should've been drunk. It's an option to being brave. It's an option I've exercised in the past. Why didn't I think of this earlier? That's the thing. I'm full of afterthoughts. My entire existence is one giant afterthought.
