Paradigm - June 1997
The Sound of a Suicide - alice
(page 18/20)

The Sound of a Suicide

Lights down low, just one burning in the corner, curtains drawn, door locked. The stereo plays - big stereo, black stereo, with lime green flashing lights. Music - hypnotic, voice inside her head. She sits there on the bed, pale, face framed by lank black hair, staring. Stereo at the end of the bed - big stereo, black stereo - green lights and spectral bass - and the music - hypnotic, just penetrates the fringes of her consciousness as she drifts in and out of lucidity.

Box of matches in a limp hand, blurred vision, eyes red rimmed and puffy , black lipstick smeared on mouth and hand. She sits, hugging her knees, rocking backwards and forwards vaguely and the only thing she knows is the music - the spectral bass on the big black stereo at the end of the bed. Nothing to eat nor drink for seventeen hours now, no sleep for even longer - did she still sleep ? Wrapped in black cape, shivering at the sound of the music, swirling colour exploding into the grey room, green on red pulsating patterns piercing the shadows, eyelids flicker, passing out.

Come round a bit later, eyes bleary, sticky, pain all down one side and the music still going. Must have passed out, where am I? who am I? And the stereo's grown bigger and blacker somehow, so as to dominate the room. Must get food - open fridge, open can, eat and the music changes, harsher now, more threatening, the colours spinning faster, round and round the room like a prism gone insane, dizzy, slumps down. Light cigarette, breath in, coughing she goes to the sink and throws up, easier with the smoke, stubs out cigarette on her arm, don't feel the pain. Open window, pour water, gulp it down like there's no tomorrow and the music - hypnotic, beating, pulls her further down into the abyss, aloneliness, those burn scars down her arms, ash on the carpet and the spectral bass explodes, filling the room, and all she can see is all she can hear and she collapses on the bed, stupid pretty pink pretty girly flowers, and the smudge of the lipstick like a slug on the pillow, the music drags her down within herself, searching, screaming for release, hypnotic, take me, TAKE ME.

The knife breaks, clatters to the floor, blood and tears, something snaps inside, her head hurts, the stereo's larger than her life, somehow she finds the off switch and listens to the silence.

Just unlock the door, so tired, just curl up, wait to be found. Live.

Kill the music not yourself.

alice