Rope
It was raining again, a slow steady beat drumming across the leaves, and he smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, because he had been crying, but it was a smile, and the thought that he could still smile made him happier. He stood closer to the open window, not wanting to close it, to lock out the smells; there was no word, no possible expression, there was only the smell you got after it rained. And it was the most beautiful thing in the world, and that made him happy too.

It had been a crazy, painful day, like so many before, but for the first time in years, she wasn't there to share it with him, and that still hurt. It hurt more than he could ever express in words, hurt so much that even the smell of the rain brought memories of her, of how she had made every experience in his life complete, how the world seemed stale without her.

She had taken her time to tell him. It happened over three days, three painful, endless days, and he never accepted what was happening until it was completely over, and she was gone, forever. He knew that he had to move on, but he knew he never really could.

Still, he was smiling, and that was good. He knew it was because of his decision. Once he knew what was coming next, the world seemed better, though just a little bit.

The rum had probably helped too. The sweet taste of the rum still lingered in his mouth, and the harsh kick it had was almost gone now, leaving a numb, happy feeling. He still hurt, but at least he was able to smell the rain, and feel thankful for the beauty of this world.

Her reasons were simple, and there wasn't much he could say against them either. She was right, he was drinking too much. He wasn't a noisy drunk or an angry one. He was an affectionate one, but to her, that was even worse. And there wasn't even much he could do about it.

They wanted very different things too. She had wanted to live her life, and have a career, and see the world, while he wanted to settle down and have kids, grow old in peace. And neither of them wanted to change.

There were other things too, the little things that could end every relationship. He felt she had no sympathy for his troubles, and she felt the only thing he ever talked about were his troubles. They were happy, but for how long? Eventually they would grow too far apart, she had said.

And she was right. He knew she was. He knew that there was nothing to be done, no way they could save the relationship. This was the third serious relationship in seven years that had gone sour. Just a month before his thirtieth birthday, the world seemed a very cruel place.

Even the rain, he knew, could be cruel, no matter how beautiful it seemed. Somewhere, maybe just below, people would drown because of the rain, people's homes would be submerged. Others might die in accidents, caused at least partly by the rain. No, the world was not a good place to be in without someone to share it with, and by now he knew that his lot in life did not include someone like that. No, she had every right to give up on him, and he was only surprised that it had taken her three years.

Everyone eventually gave up on him, though they all started off with high hopes. When he'd started working eight years ago, everyone had very high hopes from him, one of the top students in his class, a man with ideas, a man to watch out for, everyone said.

Eight long years later, they were still watching, and he had barely moved, while many many others had upstaged him and left him far behind a long time back. They had all given up on him too, by now.

He looked down and saw his near empty bottle of rum, and smiled. The only constant ally in his life. He drank everyday now, often finishing a bottle in just three days. Why not? He was in control, and he didn't do anything stupid when he had a drink, and he enjoyed drinking.

He felt warm, and the world was a better place to be in. She didn't understand that, didn't understand that the rum didn't take away his love for her, his need for her, that it made everything more real, that it made the world make sense, that it made his love for her more honest. She had not understood.

He reached down and finished the last of the rum, and decided to get on with what remained of his life. Moving on was the key, he knew. And so he did.

After a few fumbled attempts he had tied the knots in the nylon rope he used to dry his clothes on, and had looped it through the ceiling fan's hook, and another minute went into positioning the chair properly. He climbed out and measured the slack, and gave a few tugs to make sure the hook would hold.

And then the rope went taut.

This is not a story about me, about anything that I went through, about any sort of thing in any way connected to me, or someone I know... Well, I know someone whose brother committed suicide, but this is not connected to that in any way either. For the record, I had tried drowning my self in beer, but gave up when I realised I was having too much fun.