Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Death Do Us Part ❯ I'm Falling ( Chapter 1 )

I was suddenly inspired to create this character and explore the workings of the human mind, this chapter was influenced a lot by Robert Cormier's book After the First Death, a must read.

 

This is for the gal's sitting on the angst couch, you know who you are ^.~

 

Disclaimer: This is an entirely original story, and is not based on any real incidents.

”Savin' Me”
is by Nickelback

 

 

Enjoy!

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All right then.

 

I'll start from the beginning.

 

My name? It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with what I'm going to share with you this night. You want to know who I am? You'll find out soon enough.

 

My name doesn't matter.

 

Okay, I'll tell you about myself.

 

Prison gates won't open up for me
on these hands and knees I'm crawling

 

I'm your average twenty-six year old male office worker. I have a beautiful wife and a nice little apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo. Is my wife Japanese? Yeah. Am I? Only in name and partly in appearance. My father was Japanese, my mother from the states. They met on some marine biology tour of hers and sparks flew. Or at least that's what I've heard. Anyway, you wanted to know more about me.

 

All I reach for you

 

This morning I was standing on the very edge of Agate Bridge. It's an old bridge, no cars, just the occasional bicycle. Almost abandoned.

 

I thought it would be the perfect place. I'd jump and the wind would rush past me pleasantly before I hit the rushing water. I've worked out that it would be a quick death; I worked out how many seconds I'd have to live after my feet leave the edge of the bridge. Not many.

 

Well I'm terrified of these four walls
these iron bars can't hold my soul

 

But what a pleasant death it would be. A release from everything I have here, bottled up inside of me. When the time comes and I want to kill myself, I'll jump off that bridge. But not yet. Not yet.

 

I guess I'm not your average twenty-six year old male.

 

Oh, then there's my wife.

All I need is you
Come please, I'm calling

 

My wife, the beauty. We've been married exactly seven years, eleven months and twelve days. She really is a beauty. Long, wavy, dark brown hair and bronze, copper coloured eyes. I love her light pink lips, her impossibly thick eyelashes, and her little nose. There are so many things about her that make her beautiful. I could go on describing her mouth-watering body, but I want to stick to the face. I describe her face so that you can picture her exactly in your head. Yelling at me, crying.

And all I scream for you
Hurry, I'm falling

 

That leads on to telling you about our marriage then, doesn't it? I'll tell you about an average day so you can get the idea.

 

I wake up for work early, 5:30 at the latest. She's always still sleeping. I watch her for some time and then get dressed into one of those suffocating business suits I have to wear. I'm gone before she wakes up. Work isn't worth mentioning. Work is what gets me into these arguments with my wife. I can't quit though. I need to work for money; I need money to give her a good life. I get good money from my job. Anyway. I always end up getting stuck working late, its part of my post. When I come home, she's already asleep. There's a home cooked dinner for me in the oven, a disappointed note on the fridge sometimes. Then I take those pills the doctor gave me, and try for another restless sleep.

And so the cycle goes.

I'm falling

On Sundays I don't work. I can spend some time with my friends (workmates); go to family barbeques, a wedding maybe. Depends on what we're invited to. Family gatherings aren't always a pleasure. This - depression - thing I have is hereditary. My father took the plunge, and his father before him. There's always the subject of their suicides hanging over our heads.

Show me what it's like
to be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
and I'll show you what I can be

 

So you'd think with a beautiful wife that I love more than life, I'd be a happy person. I don't really have a choice. True happiness has never come to me easily. I'll not dare mention our sex life. What sex life? She knows about this illness I have. She tries so hard to make me happy. All I can do is make her cry.

 

And say it for me
Say it to me

 

I deserve to die.

 

So that had me standing on the edge of Agate Bridge this morning, and on many other occasions over the past year or so.

And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth savin' me

I'm really no good. We used to be so happy, and that sex life? Hot. Some people say we got married too young, we were practically still teenagers. I don't care about those people. We loved each other. We love each other. That's all that matters, right?

 

`Until death do us part.'

That was the promise we had vowed to each other on our wedding day. She had written her own vows, read her love for everyone to hear. It was beautiful, the sort of stuff that made your heart grow, your eyes sparkle and your stomach flutter. Me? I'm really no good at that sort of thing. So, as we had promised, nothing in the world would separate us.

 

Only death.

Hurry, I'm falling

So maybe that's why I want to kill myself. To release her from this tie to me, this bond that is no doubt a heavy burden on her delicate shoulders. She deserves better than this pitiful excuse for a husband, pitiful excuse for a human being.

I have dark blue eyes. She tells me they're beautiful I don't see how, but that's what she tells me. Another small feature of mine: the little beauty spot by the corner of my left eye. They say that a person who has a beauty spot in the trail of their tears is destined to cry for an eternity. Maybe that's my excuse.

 

Or maybe I'm just a coward.

 

Akaba Satoru, the coward husband and pitiful excuse for a human being. Now you know my name. I've never really been fond of it, but I do love hearing the sweet little nicknames she calls me when she's in a good mood. They seem to deliberately draw my attention to her lips.

 

I can feel a stirring deep inside now, passion, is it, when I mention these things. Then the expected rush of pain spreads through my chest. It happens all the time. It's as if nature itself refuses to let me feel pleasant feelings. Any time I feel positive emotions, I am reminded of how rarely I feel them. Suddenly, they aren't such positive emotions anymore.

 

And you wonder why I want to kill myself.

Heaven's gates won't open up for me
with these broken wings I'm falling

 

I can never seem to feel happy, and in turn, can never make my wife feel happy. Or anyone else for that matter. There's that burning pain again. It's spreading more. I'm closing my eyes to stop the tears, closing my mouth to stop the scream. I remember a moment, a year into our marriage. I had asked her a question.

 

“Why do you love me?”

All I see is you

 

She only smiled. Because I make you happy? Yeah. That was it. She loves me because I make her happy. But I don't make her happy anymore. Does that mean, then…

 

I can feel the bile rising in my throat and I rush to the bathroom just in time. Stinging vomit gushes from the faucet that is my mouth, spilling into the toilet, tingeing the water red. I sit beside the seat and try to catch my breath. There is blood on the toilet seat and I can feel it dripping from the corner of my mouth. I know my eyes are bloodshot, and the vein at my temple is probably pulsing. Enough of that.

These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story

 

Our anniversary last year. It had been on my mind the whole time that day. We always did something special on our anniversary. I wasn't like the men that would always forget it. She had called me at work, used that sexy voice of hers that could melt my very skin off, and told me, in acute detail, what would be waiting for me at home upon my return. I suppress the familiar stirring I feel now at the memory of it. It'll only bring more pain.

And oh I scream for you

 

Later on while still at work, a superior called me into his office. He had given me the promotion I had been working for, a new office, a generous pay rise. I was beaming that day. I'm trying to re-live the feeling I had felt almost a year ago, that happiness, but I can't seem to imitate it. Why not? Because I know what happens next.

Come please, I'm calling

 

I was kept in late, doing the paperwork that had been tied to my higher ranked job. Somehow, in all the piles of documents and files, I had forgotten our anniversary.

And all I need from you
Hurry, I'm falling

 

She was already asleep when I finally got home. The lights were out and there were melted candles and rose petals scattered around the room. She lay on a tear-stained bed, her face peaceful, but sad. That night was supposed to be special. It wasn't only our anniversary, but an attempt to rekindle the fire in our relationship that we had doused somewhere along the way. She had gone all out, the scented candles, the silk sheets, the rose petals, the lingerie… All I did was made her cry.

I'm falling

 

And I've been doing so ever since.

 

I deserve to die.

 

Take that jump off Agate Bridge; lift that heavy burden off her shoulders.

And all I need is you

 

I'm not telling you this to pilfer a plea of some kind. I do not consider this a suicide note either. Or even a prelude to one. When the time comes for me to do the deed, I'll do it without warning or prologue, and plummet from Agate Bridge to the riverbed below.

Come please, I'm calling

 

But then she would think it was her fault. It's my fault.

And oh, I scream for you

 

She doesn't know that. She would think it's her fault, she would cry. I hate it when she cries. I can't kill myself. I can't bring myself to make her cry anymore. But still. If the time comes, I'll take the short walk to Agate Bridge.

Hurry, I'm falling

 

And take that sweet plummet into nothingness as the wind whistles passed my face, into my clothes and through the hole in my heart.

 

 

I'm falling.

 

 

 

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To be continued…