It was weird that I had never considered strangling myself with a tie. While pondering upon my previous trials, I removed the tie from the shirt, wrapped it around my neck, and cinched it as tightly as I could. I was not sure if it was because the silk was too slippery, it slid from my grasp after several attempts. I quickly lost all power, and the tie dropped to my lips before I realized it was a birthday gift from Charlie.
I was lying in the sand, lying there with all my heartfelt coldness. The touch of the sand was a bit peculiar, while it being rough, it gave me the feeling of softness and gentleness when it flew through my hands. I grabbed a handful of sand and tossed it into the air; serenity washed over me as I gazed at the sand dancing in the air in silence.
When I rolled over, the sand behind me was released the strain of my back, feeling a fleeting sensation of comfort and freedom. I was facing the sea, which was significantly cooler at night and the waves occasionally danced towards the shore. I had stood in the sea before sunset to observe how the water would drown the sand and rocks, but the sea appeared to calm down and conduct itself late at night, at least on the surface.
A man was sitting next to me, holding a bottle of whisky in his hand. He seemed a bit hesitant as to whether he should try a sip or not. He put down the bottle twice and after some time, he finally picked up the bottle and opened the jar. He smelt it, frowns crept up on his face, he then took a sip, wiped the liquid drifting down from his mouth, and then took another sip.
I heard him sobbing as he looked down at the bottle of whisky. He must have spotted my gaze and forced a bitter yet dry smile, "too cold and bitter, I mean the whisky", he said. He offered if I wanted to join him for a drink, and I politely declined, saying, "whisky is not my panacea". He gave a nod and dug into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. The light gleamed brilliantly on his comparatively pale face, and the scar on his right forehead sparkled like a weeping willow.
He remained quiet while smoking, his eyes looked far out to the sea, "what brings you here? It is New Year's Eve, I see you all dressed up, even with a tie...waiting for someone"? He did not turn his head to look at me.
"No, just myself", my voice died down as the wind blew in our direction.
"Nice outfit. It has been long since I wore suits and tie".
"It is a present, the tie".
"Oh, I see. It looks fancy, I mean fancy in good ways. It must be someone special".
"It is just a present".
"Whatever suits you".
It is just a present, a present from Charlie, for my 30th birthday. He placed a beautifully decorated box on the table of our living room and left the house. I opened it half an hour after he had gone. The tie laid there peacefully, the silk made it look more delicate, but with an extra sense of fragility.
I met Charlie two years after, outside a bar, under the dim light. He was with another man. I was quite certain he did not spot me because I was hiding at a corner where even my shadow could evaporate.
The man took a few sharp puffs of smokes and asked me whether I had tasted cigarettes before.
"Yes, it feels like hitting your head with a sponge". The metaphor came to my mind out of the blue.
"You are funny, but I agree. No smoking means freedom".
"You smoke a lot"? I asked in a distracted way as I laid my hand on the tie again.
"Not really, I want freedom you see". He let out a soft chuckle, still holding his whisky in his hand.
He slowly exhaled a smoke ring, his face looked peaceful without any trace of sorrow at that moment. He was burying his sentiments in the smoke he exhaled, wishing the heartbreaks would fade away once the smoke dissipated into the air.
"You have any plans for the new year"? He poured a drip of whisky onto the cigarette, put it out, and laid down beside me.
"No... you"? My attention got carried away by the sound of coming small waves.
"I won't come here if I do. You see, this place is for people with no plans, wanderers."
We remained silent for the next few minutes, then my mouth opened even without my conscious notice, "You know what? I might have a plan now".
"Section A, bed No. 27, Daniel Bruce is waking up".
"Do you still remember what happened"? My eyes met a young lady in white, whose outfit suggested that I am in a hospital now.
"Water"? A sense of dizziness in my head took over me as I recalled me lying in the sand before.
"You were found drowning in the water, a man dragged you onto the shore and called us. How do you feel now Mr. Bruce"?
I did not say a word as I was still restoring my energy and trying to remember everything in the past hours.
"Don't worry, you will be fine. You need a good rest now". I saw her writing a few words on my information sheet while speaking with me. Her attention was drawn away from the writing pad by the increasing noise outside the window, as it was ten to twelve o'clock, the start of another year.
"Happy new year, Mr. Bruce", her bland grin was like a butterfly without wings, unable to fly around and spread pollen, and the losing glossiness of her lipstick reminded me of the weeping willow on the man's face.
"Happy new year". My whisper dissolved in the air the moment she turned off the light and left the ward.
The fireworks outside the window are burning their every sentiment to the sky. People enjoy igniting fireworks as new year begins or during large festivities, as if all regrets and sins can be blown away with the dazzling yet fleeting beauty.
I reached to the bedside table and found my drenched tie there. I clinched the knot so firmly that I appeared to be trying to squeeze every last drop of water out of it, exactly as I was trying to squeeze a tear, but I failed. I am lying in my bed now, just like I am lying in a grave; quiet, and undisturbed.
I was lying in the sand, lying there with all my heartfelt coldness. The touch of the sand was a bit peculiar, while it being rough, it gave me the feeling of softness and gentleness when it flew through my hands. I grabbed a handful of sand and tossed it into the air; serenity washed over me as I gazed at the sand dancing in the air in silence.
When I rolled over, the sand behind me was released the strain of my back, feeling a fleeting sensation of comfort and freedom. I was facing the sea, which was significantly cooler at night and the waves occasionally danced towards the shore. I had stood in the sea before sunset to observe how the water would drown the sand and rocks, but the sea appeared to calm down and conduct itself late at night, at least on the surface.
A man was sitting next to me, holding a bottle of whisky in his hand. He seemed a bit hesitant as to whether he should try a sip or not. He put down the bottle twice and after some time, he finally picked up the bottle and opened the jar. He smelt it, frowns crept up on his face, he then took a sip, wiped the liquid drifting down from his mouth, and then took another sip.
I heard him sobbing as he looked down at the bottle of whisky. He must have spotted my gaze and forced a bitter yet dry smile, "too cold and bitter, I mean the whisky", he said. He offered if I wanted to join him for a drink, and I politely declined, saying, "whisky is not my panacea". He gave a nod and dug into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. The light gleamed brilliantly on his comparatively pale face, and the scar on his right forehead sparkled like a weeping willow.
He remained quiet while smoking, his eyes looked far out to the sea, "what brings you here? It is New Year's Eve, I see you all dressed up, even with a tie...waiting for someone"? He did not turn his head to look at me.
"No, just myself", my voice died down as the wind blew in our direction.
"Nice outfit. It has been long since I wore suits and tie".
"It is a present, the tie".
"Oh, I see. It looks fancy, I mean fancy in good ways. It must be someone special".
"It is just a present".
"Whatever suits you".
It is just a present, a present from Charlie, for my 30th birthday. He placed a beautifully decorated box on the table of our living room and left the house. I opened it half an hour after he had gone. The tie laid there peacefully, the silk made it look more delicate, but with an extra sense of fragility.
I met Charlie two years after, outside a bar, under the dim light. He was with another man. I was quite certain he did not spot me because I was hiding at a corner where even my shadow could evaporate.
The man took a few sharp puffs of smokes and asked me whether I had tasted cigarettes before.
"Yes, it feels like hitting your head with a sponge". The metaphor came to my mind out of the blue.
"You are funny, but I agree. No smoking means freedom".
"You smoke a lot"? I asked in a distracted way as I laid my hand on the tie again.
"Not really, I want freedom you see". He let out a soft chuckle, still holding his whisky in his hand.
He slowly exhaled a smoke ring, his face looked peaceful without any trace of sorrow at that moment. He was burying his sentiments in the smoke he exhaled, wishing the heartbreaks would fade away once the smoke dissipated into the air.
"You have any plans for the new year"? He poured a drip of whisky onto the cigarette, put it out, and laid down beside me.
"No... you"? My attention got carried away by the sound of coming small waves.
"I won't come here if I do. You see, this place is for people with no plans, wanderers."
We remained silent for the next few minutes, then my mouth opened even without my conscious notice, "You know what? I might have a plan now".
"Section A, bed No. 27, Daniel Bruce is waking up".
"Do you still remember what happened"? My eyes met a young lady in white, whose outfit suggested that I am in a hospital now.
"Water"? A sense of dizziness in my head took over me as I recalled me lying in the sand before.
"You were found drowning in the water, a man dragged you onto the shore and called us. How do you feel now Mr. Bruce"?
I did not say a word as I was still restoring my energy and trying to remember everything in the past hours.
"Don't worry, you will be fine. You need a good rest now". I saw her writing a few words on my information sheet while speaking with me. Her attention was drawn away from the writing pad by the increasing noise outside the window, as it was ten to twelve o'clock, the start of another year.
"Happy new year, Mr. Bruce", her bland grin was like a butterfly without wings, unable to fly around and spread pollen, and the losing glossiness of her lipstick reminded me of the weeping willow on the man's face.
"Happy new year". My whisper dissolved in the air the moment she turned off the light and left the ward.
The fireworks outside the window are burning their every sentiment to the sky. People enjoy igniting fireworks as new year begins or during large festivities, as if all regrets and sins can be blown away with the dazzling yet fleeting beauty.
I reached to the bedside table and found my drenched tie there. I clinched the knot so firmly that I appeared to be trying to squeeze every last drop of water out of it, exactly as I was trying to squeeze a tear, but I failed. I am lying in my bed now, just like I am lying in a grave; quiet, and undisturbed.