The Depth of Death

How deep can it go? I don’t know. I mean, what you feel when you plummet from the protection life’s cave offered to holding unto a dry root of frustration off the cliffs of sorrow. How deep can the ocean of death beneath go? Like I said, I do not know for sure. But, I intend to find out soon.

Even as I picked the last file and tucked it gently into the drawer, all I could was release heavy sighs, the type that may refer you to the blood bank at the end of the day. The table was empty, safe for my monitor, keyboard, and the land phone. Don’t get it wrong, I am not the type of man that exalted affinity for orderliness, I just don’t want my files stained by the time I’m through with whatever I thought I would do with my life. All I was left to do is sign off the computer and set to work, but my gaze lingered a little while on the new mail notification.

“Divorce confirmation...” That was the title her lawyer used. I laughed. Death confirmation would have been better. When I opened the mail, I didn’t bother to read through its content. All I wanted to do is send her a more fitting reply; that the company has finally succumbed to bankruptcy, that the ship bringing my last supply was hijacked, and that all she would get of my properties might be shirts and pants –that’s even if that greedy man they had for manager at the city bank did not choose to confiscate it as a part of the collateral. I was too tired. I smiled at the bottle of whiskey in my hand and took a gulp.

“Excuse me, sir. May I come in?” Gracy’s voice followed a gentle rap on my door. I could feel it, she was tired, too. Poor woman, she did most of the work while I licked my wounds in the dark; such a shame that I have only been able to pay such diligence back with salary indebtedness, seven months exactly. I hope she would be this strong when she hits the street again with her twenty year old degree certificate.
“Yes, what do you want from me?” I asked as she stepped into my office in the familiar stripped shirt on black pants. The difference has always been the colour: blue on Tuesday, pink on Thursday and sometimes she went for the joseph’s garment on Fridays. If you ever found her closet, you might expect to meet rainbow’s cousin.

“erm… you look…sober…sir? Is everything alright?” she paused and dropped the files on my table after seeing my unwelcoming face. “I highlighted a few companies that might still take in our goods, at a discount of course. But that is still enough to safe our head before the month runs out…” she ranted and traced each line with her pen while I nodded like a lizard. To be honest, all I was seeing were names dancing on papers.

“There’s no need for this, the goods will no longer be delivered.” I had almost said. But I nodded instead and appreciated her gestures. Gracy; my all-knowing secretary. She left in confusion and turned back to look at me so much that she almost tripped on a stool. I withdrew the bottle of whiskey I kept under the table and continued gulping it. Even if I had no accomplishments in business or marriage, I should have in finishing a bottle of whiskey. So that people would say: they found Mr fischer lying gently with a gun lying gently beside an empty bottle of whiskey lying gently in his own pool of blood. Don’t worry, I’m not drunk yet.

Pistols weren’t my thing. In fact, I feared a gun since the day that masked guy shot my father, and almost ripped off my tiny arm. I stroked the one in my hands gently like a new born and set it beside the whiskey bottle, almost same in length. I packed the few files Gracy brought and grudgingly shoved it into the drawer. It returned most of it and I had to throw some down the window.

The plan had been earlier imagined, seen in too many movies. Close up the pistol in your mouth, and pull the trigger. Simple. I did the first step, okay, and frowned in irritation as my tongue touched the tip, after I remembered where the thug had kept the gun earlier.
Grrr! Grrr! The intercom bussed and disrupted my business. I removed the gun from my mouth and picked up.

“Gracy?” I asked instead of shouting. I had done that at many things in the past weeks, and the outcomes were pretty disastrous.

“Yes. Sir, someone is here to see you.” She spoke as gently as ever.

“I see,” I said, relaxed a bit and said with a bit of distaste, “who”? she delayed in answering my question and I knew immediately that all is not well; it hasn’t been in the past weeks.

“Mr mike, the bank manager.” She whispered.

“Oh thanks I’ll join him in 5 minutes.” I groaned.

“Join him?” I dropped the call angrily and pulled out anything I could from the intercom. I picked the pistol again, glared at it in horror and dropped it back on the table. Suddenly, I lost appetite for lead pellets, thanks to Gracy. Maybe it’s all good; a death from a gunshot might have been too sudden. More like been shoved into a room without knowing what the entrance look like. But a slower death may be better; like sand been blown away gently by the wind. It would give me the privileged to meet death, share it awful glee, and perhaps meet sorrow, and mock him for he’s inability to follow me into death. What would death look like there, a dark tunnel of timelessness, or a still, unwavering air of peace?

‘Ah! Don’t doubt its potency!’ the man who sold the poison had boasted when I bought it some months back. I shook the bottle in my hand and watched its content dance around its confines. I closed my eyes and placed the bottle in my mouth, pushed it up a little and withdrew it almost immediately. My heart skipped a bit, knowing the implications of my action. I lifted the bottle into my mouth the second time and gulped its bitter content. By the time i was through with myself, I was in tears, expecting the inevitable.

To Jane, I am sorry for letting you down. I know I made too many mistakes, too many to be forgotten. I am sorry. To Gracy, my secretary, I hope you find a better boss, in yourself. I placed my head on the table as I felt the first impact of the drug; a tight knot around my intestine, and the rest happened in series. I shifted myself in the chair to accommodate the pains until two figures busted into my office with Gracy shivering behind them.

“Mr Fischer! Matt! You’ve killed me!” Mr Mike and Jane’s voice filled the room. I was happy they were too late. The saliva hadn’t drooled unto the table yet, and my eyes still blinked occasionally. I let go and closed my eyes.

“What has he done to himself for God sake?” Jane’s cry pieced through my ears.

“Not to worry madam. He only drank a bottle of cough syrup. I made sure of that.” Gracy’s voice was so convincing that I jumped out of my supposed unconsciousness with much energy and stared at the intruders in horror and shock.

“You..you.. changed my...” I was stuttering until Jane’s slap cut me off.

‘That was for mistrusting me’ ‘for switching off your phones’ ‘for trying to leave me behind’… she accompanied each sentence with precise slaps until she had to stop and sob. I smiled, knowing that I finally got her priceless forgiveness. Something I never imagined.


https://pendribbles./2017/01/03/the-depth-of-death/