Hanging (short story)

This fucking light, this fucking light, can’t it go away? It’s eating into his eyes, it’s killed the idea of darkness. Is this awake or dreaming, there’s that feel of unreality yet in his heart, hell not even his heart his head, he knows that all of this is real. This is what is happening to him. If he does not gain control, he will disappear. He needs to gain control. What can he do. They have worn him down. How is it he confessed? They are better then him.

What an ugly room to die in. Will this really be it. No, there has to be a next step. There’s always a next step. There will be a next step. What is the next step. Fucking Christ. Justin wants to panic, it’s all he wants to do. Is that the fucking rope being tied into a noose. What the hell are all these people saying. There is a noise in his ear that’s like a steam whistle. Are all the colors of the room more vibrant then usual, or is there a lack of color. How did the noose get around his head. Is he crying? Poor man, he’s not even going to appreciate that these are some of his last thoughts. The rope is grating at his neck, he wants to itch it. There has to be a next step. He is hanging, there is pain, but there is no time for pain. What is the next step. There has to be a next step. What is the next step. He’s stopped twitching.

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