Have you ever wondered why people choose to commit suicide? The answer that I've come up with was simple, yet also incredibly complex at the same time. It's because they are losers.

Now, before you take your pitchforks and storm my imaginary castle, let me explain what I meant by that. I really didn't mean anything negative, only the literal definition of the word.

They all lost. Part of them lost something or someone so important to them, that such loss was just too much for them to cope. Others lost a struggle against something, be it social, financial, mental or health issues. And the last batch were simply lost on their road of life.

And here I was, about to lose this game as well. What was my reason? Extreme boredom. Now that was another oversimplification. What I actually felt was that my life is a mess of dull repeating moments, and I was feeling powerless to change anything in any significant way. And it slowly chipped away at my will and want to live. Maybe I should've got into therapy, but that would require me to actually want help. And I was too far gone by this point.

Well, at the very least, I can say that I managed to fuck my life by myself. I can't even blame it on one bad day, on one stupid mistake. No, oh no, it was a lifetime of wrongs, and I thoroughly enjoyed them all. Even if what it ultimately led me to was this feeling of emptiness.

A gust of chilly night breeze took me out of my grim musings and made me shiver a bit from the cold. Yeah, standing naked on the penthouse balcony in the early spring wasn't the best idea ever, but, considering circumstances, fear of getting a cold wasn't high on my priority list.

I am not sure whom I was even telling all of that. To the heavens above? In vain hope that they will forget everything I've done, forgive and accept me? To an unknown entity who, for some unknown reason, took an interest in my life? Huh, I hope you were entertained enough by all this bullshit.

Whom am I kidding? Obviously, I was talking to myself, trying to justify, at least in my head, my own decision. With a side of getting rid of nervousness and the fear of the unknown. Yeah, no matter how sure I was, some miniscule part of me still wanted to live, cause no matter what, existence beats the opposite alternative.

I looked downwards, taking in the view of the cityscape. Despite it being three in the morning, the streets were bustling with people. Traffic kept moving. Buildings, billboards, streetlights shone, in the desperate attempt to fight the encroaching darkness. A sound of sirens in the distance – sign of someone dying, or, maybe, getting born. I took all the noise, all the sights in, trying to burn it all in my memory.

I took a step, rising onto the waist-high barrier of the balcony. Another short step and all of that will end. At last. I looked down. Yeah, a thirty-five stories long flight with a landing onto a hard asphalt will take care of everything. I willed my body to stop shivering. Was it from being cold or nervous? I wasn't sure myself. And then my body took that last step. Head first, just to be sure.

As the ground raced towards me, or vice versa, my brain played tricks on me, shoving the treacherous thoughts of 'Will anyone even care?' onto the front of my consciousness. Huh, is that even a question? Of course someone will! My drinking buddies will gossip for at least a week about why I did something so stupid. My current fuck buddy will cry for about three days, before throwing herself into someone else's arms. What was her name again? Joan? Jane? Jeanne? Jenny? Fuck if I knew. Honey-kitten-babe number five, and that's only because I could only remember the last four before her.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

And, the most important of them all, the unlucky dude who will clean the remains of my sorry ass from the asphalt in the morning. Yeah, sorry bro. Don't curse me too much, please, I didn't choose your shift just to make your life worse, I swear.

With this being the last thought in my head, said part of my body met with hard ground.

***

I had a mother of all headaches. Did one of these fuckers yesterday spike my drink again? When I find out who it was, I will make sure that the bastard will piss blood for a while.

As Elephant City played the heated match versus Rhino United inside my skull, I managed to open my eyes. Huh, unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Not exactly a rarity for my lifestyle, but, surprisingly, I was alone here. Shouldn't the owner of this room be with me right now? What is going on?

I looked around, looking for something that could possibly help me to remember where the fuck I ended up this time. My hopes were crushed, this thrice damned place was almost empty. No photos, no posters. Not even a TV, for Pete's sake! Empty walls, a simple queen-sized bed, plain blinders on the window. The only notable thing in this whole room was a closet with a full height mirror. And something in said mirror caught my attention.

From inside the mirror image, a twenty-some years younger version of myself looked back at me. Same short spiky black hair, same dead fish gaze of brown eyes. A bit shorter stature, a lot less bulky as well. Lack of scars and tattoos that I got on my crooked life path. I looked at the teenage version of myself.

Wow, this was a good one. I must admit, whoever cooked this prank is one sick bastard. I looked around, trying to spot hidden cameras, or places where my dumb buddies were hiding in, no doubt laughing their asses off right now.

And then I saw the same twenty-some year old phone model lying on the bedside table. The very same one that I kept as a 'souvenir of better times'. Now that was a thing I haven't told to anyone else. No reason to, really.

With shaking hands, less bulky and lacking scars and tattoos, I grabbed the phone, with an oh-so familiar motion I found a power button and the screen came to life, shining the default wallpaper, date, and the time. Well, at least the date was the same as when I fell asleep. With strange trepidation, my muscle memory took care of the PIN locked screen.

Old app icons met my gaze. Old browser. Outdated messenger. Random trash apps that I was entirely too lazy to actually uninstall all this time. Strangest thing, really, there was an 'unread message' notification icon on the said messenger. Who was even using it still?

I shook my head, trying to clear it a bit, and tapped onto the 'Calendar' app. Yeah, predictably, it was showing me twenty-some years since gone date as well. What was I even thinking? Whoever did all of this won't miss something that obvious. Hm, or maybe it's all a dream? Don't know, don't care.

My thoughts went back to the 'unread message' notification. Well, if there was a place where this prank, dream, whatever this was, could possibly give some sign of crack, it was the messenger. Dead, outdated, long forgotten app that fell out of trend more than a decade ago. You need some real dedication to fake something like that.

I tapped the icon and slowly scrolled through my twenty-some years old contact list. So many nostalgic names and faces. People whom I forgot, who forgot me. People who will never answer back. My fingers froze over one such contact. Helen. Beautiful face adorned with a smile. So many memories. And now, there was a crack in your prank/dream, bastard. There were unread messages.

I read all of them a few years back. Cold, stale messages from long forgotten past. And I could be sure, she wouldn't message me ever again.

Well, let's check it once again. Why not? I clicked the icon and opened the chat window. The last message was dated with 'three months ago'. And it was the same as I remembered it.

Helen: [Hey. Can we talk, please? Just one last time? I won't bother you again, I swear. Please, just talk to me.]

I reread the message a few times, tasting it on my tongue. Weighting it in my mind. Once again, why didn't I answer her back? Ah, right. I was afraid of getting too attached and then getting bored with her for good, so I dumped her beforehand. Or something equally edgy and stupid. If this was a prank or a dream… It won't hurt anyone if I actually wrote her an answer, right?

For some reason, I felt incredibly nervous all of a sudden. The blood drummed in my ears, while I wrote a simple reply with wooden fingers. So fucking stupid, I know.

Me: [hey yourself, wanna go on a date or something?]

And sent. How cringe. I felt like I just licked a lemon. Of course, there was no instant answer. Fuck you, whoever is watching me right now. I hope you will choke on a dick, you fucktard. Laugh all you want.

I threw the phone back on the bedside table and decided to check if the kitchen of this apartment was stocked with things I can turn into something edible. And coffee. Or maybe something stronger. God knows I need it right now.