Self act of murder.

Submitted to Loneliness
Uploaded 20 Nov 2008 — 1 favorite
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© Ronnel Panizares
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Photo Info
UploadedNovember 20, 2008
TakenFebruary 23, 2007
Exposure10/369 sec at f/2.8
FlashCompulsory Flash
Focal Length7.8 mm
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Q: how good are tokina lenses?

A: Do you know?

Photo license: © All rights reserved

Welcome to the world of the insane and fucked up. My fifteen minutes of fame is done. I have elaborately organized my escape. It is the hidden trapped door where my foot lay tapping, waiting for the stroke of midnight to ring. This is no disappearing act in any fate. The ring around my neck is loosely fitted to the manner of what consequences may or may not occur. As my opera of cries play out in the distance, my sweaty palms shake and my soon-to-be lifeless body quivers. I can imagine it now. With the tug of a rope, my dreams become a reality and my fate is of course death. Then I think to myself, "why end it now?" With the fearfulness of doubts loosening the grip of the rope, I shake it off. Is this by any means a self act of murder? Or an escape from what life is left and that never was? My eyes tear with endless bliss, knowing what I am about to do is for the good of all. So escape artists never die? It is only true if you intend to escape.

So the clock ticks and ticks and ticks away. And with every second much slower then the next one, my heart quickens its beats. My heart starts to ache. I can almost hear it scream out loud for that stroke of midnight to come. I pause a moment to think of everything that is going on. Too many things are killing me inside and too many reasons that I have questioned. For the same reason why it is killing me on the inside is the same reason it is keeping me alive on the outside. Blurring the line between insanity and suicidal, I can almost taste the end. Yet, I stall for more time that I do not have. I stall for more doubts of this madness and give myself more reasons to not let this be my fate. I am blinded by pure emotion and hostile words, yet I contradict those with words of compassion and acts of kindness. “Why?” I ask myself. Because my weakness is that I care too much.

Five minutes until the act begins. This will test my endless war inside me. Do I dare to test until the end? In five slow, heavy minutes until the final curtain shuts on me, or should I say, hangs me. What a sweet and sorrow escape from all of this. Come to think about it, a little funny. The struggle to find the reason is gone. I have already found them. Yet the fear of death is humorous. Testing it once was surprising. The second time; scary. But the third and final time; a bit laughable I must say. Laughing in the face of death is an understatement. Yet here I am, standing with one hand on a rope and one hand on my pocket watch waiting for that last minute. I think to myself, the best memories I have had, I cannot even remember. Please help me recall. As I pause at this moment and try to recall those memories, I smile and laugh. You kept me alive until this point.


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