Variations on Death - 9. The Suicide

In his final moments, the forces of darkness made such a deafening din that he could no longer hear anything beautiful. Fleeing from real or imagined terrors, he turned at last to Death, the one magic all mortals can make, but only once. We may extinguish our light, but then there is darkness, and from the darkness, there is no return.

He sleeps the long sleep. Blessed silence prevails, as he had imagined before his final act. In the Fortress of his Sepulchre, no longer does he dread the arrows of Shame and Humiliation. No longer does he suffer the crushing hammer of Despair and the piercing sword of Sorrow. The dandelion by his grave sighs, "If only he had learned to use a shield."

The price was steep. From his chosen path, there is no return. Oh, no, he does not perceive the silence. He does not know the peace. He is not he anymore, but no one and nothing. His body has returned to the soil and become one with the earth.

All that matters now are the ones left behind. He harmed not his enemies, but his friends that showed him kindness and wanted him to remain a part of their world. His friends say that the world seems dimmer without him. Some will never understand, but even among the few that do, none approve the deed.