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This is not a Suicide

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Time is irrelevant. As is destiny. I know this because I was given a choice. I witnessed what most would consider God’s power, the ability to foresee what others do, what should and will happen, what I have to do in order to either follow or mold my own path.

Sitting here on my bed, back and head rested against the wall of my room; this isn’t a suicide. Though most would consider it. Because if you knew how you were going to die, and still faced it head on, -with no intentions of turning away-, then wouldn’t that be considered as willingly giving ones life?

But that’s not the way I see it.
You see, Frank helped me realize this very fact.

He was the object of my discourse, the victim of my curse. I was given plenty of choices, but he stood there, tall and merciless, leading me to my own personal hell on earth. Maybe it was his way of getting back at me for ending him. Maybe the god’s gave him another chance by throwing me through time to prevent the bullet that lodged into his right eye, the one I gave him without hesitation after running over Gretchen.

And perhaps, if there is a God, this was their way of keeping me from ruining my life as well.

I would have been trailed as an insane criminal. They would have locked me in an airtight asylum where I’d never be able to leave, stuck within white walls and floors and scrubs until the walls stained with hallucinogen red. They say those places are so secure and far up their asses that even shoelaces aren’t allowed. I wonder if they’d be able to stop me from bashing my head against the concrete wall in time during the night hours, where they would probably keep all of us locked in until morning come. And then there they’d find me, a heap of a teenage mess with distant dreams and a caved in skull- shards of bone impossibly embedded into my brain; it’d take a lot of wit and strength to keep at it despite the pain. And I’m not one for pain, but I’m sure I’d go through with it if it meant being stuck with your delusion and doped on a variety of meds.

That thought came to me when I sat at the hood of my moms car, watching the vast expanse of natural lands, while Gretchen forever slept in the passenger seat behind me, as a jet engine in the distance started to fall from the sky.

It’s pretty amazing, though, if one can think it through clearly. The story of the jet engine was completely my doing. But Frank’s intervening ended up saving me, but killing him. He knew what would happen if I wasn’t there, he knew he’d die, knew that time would loop his third sequence before my second. And yet, he still led me from my own doing, and I got to witness the reason for my death.

It wasn’t because I was manic, or because I had lost everything. But because it had to happen. It was me defying my path, the one created for me. And in doing that, I set everything off course. People got sick and sad because of me, people died because of me, and I ended up alone, because I kept living. I was just one of the lucky few who got to live a life that I would have missed if I had remained asleep in my room the first time the engine crashed in.

So perhaps this is an act of heroics. My accepting my fate keeps others alive, keeps them from being sad, and keeps me from being alone.

I didn’t care about those in the house who could hear me laugh like a maniac, or if my last words to my sister and mother were offensive. Because there was no time to walk to them and apologize, and there was no reason to, because as my laughs faded but my smile remained, I realized, that’s just who I am. A messed up kid in Middlesex Virginia, alone but never forgotten because of his messed up mind and the way it all ended.

Because, really, who forgets the story of the teenage boy who was ‘tragically’ taken from this world because of an engine that had no plane, one that seemed to have just fallen from the sky, one that also flattened and scooped half of my back as it went through roof and ground.

All my doing. And it was funny, it really was. I laughed because of the irony. Because I knew the answer to the big mystery.

Where did the part come from? I did it. I sent it full speed course towards my room. I staged my own death. And isn’t that just so comical? Perhaps it’s ingenious. Or maybe just cruel.

But this isn’t my suicide. Because this is how it was supposed to happen.

I just lucked out and got the chance to live through it once, to see what happens when you fuck with fate.

And I have Frank, the little shit, to thank for that.