Choking Game

Copyright © 2014 by Yveta Germano

www.yvetagermano.com
or
www.midnighthologram.com

First Edition: October 2014
ISBN 978-1-938516-15-3
Published by Midnight Hologram, LLC

Even though a part of this story was inspired by real events, all characters and events described in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.

Cover design by Yveta Germano
Cover drawings by Leona Nováková

In memory of S.M. —
— so nice, so smart,
gone so soon...

Angel of Death

I tie a rope around my neck,
I put on a mask
so no one can see me.
It makes it easier to pretend
I do not exist.

As the rope tightens,
the mask steals my face.
Yet, no one can see
what hides beneath
the shadow of me.

Pull tighter,
breathe lighter,
anger seeps through my pores,
rage pumps the blood in my veins.
Every time it's the same.
I play hard, I play alone,
one hell of a choking game.

Where did I come from?
Where have I been?
My angel is Death,
the prettiest shade of dark
I've ever seen.

ONE

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
I often wonder what it would be like if I didn't exist

~What's that all about? Are you crying for help? Or are you just seeking attention? It's one thing to secretly plan your suicide, but tweeting hints to all your followers? Oh, I forgot, you have no followers. You're not even using your real name on Twitter. That explains a lot.

~So what about those hashtags? Are you going to use them? You're fantasizing about your death and how everyone at school, even those who didn't know you, will be shocked by your passing. At the same time you're too much of a coward to attach real words to hashtags so that people could actually find your tweets and read your nonsense. I’ve got some for you. How about editing your tweet like this:~

Teenage Revenge
@TeenageRevenge
I often wonder what it would be like if I didn't exist #death #TeenSuicide #anger #alone

~Shall I hit the Tweet button? No? Why not? Here, I did. Too late. If you're going to play with me, you'll have to play for real. I don't do games. Remember, I'm the only one who's still talking to you. I'm not sure if you're listening—that's a whole other issue. I don't care, though. Even if you cover your ears, I know you'll hear at least some of what I'm saying. That's good enough for me.~

"Be quiet! Leave me alone!"

~Why are you yelling at me? Can't you keep your voice down? You sound like you're going crazy. We're having a quiet conversation. No need to yell. All you have to do is listen, so why don't you? Is it because you don't want to hear what I have to say? Is it too much to bear? Does it ring true, and you hate it anyway? If it were an exam question, the right answer would probably be ‘all of the above.’ Check.

~I bet you don't even know the real me. You've been dodging me ever since I can remember. I'm done trying to make myself visible by talking and pleading. Looks like you don't care, so let's just leave it at that. No more begging for your attention. From now on, I'll say whatever I feel is necessary whether you like it or not. That's my last gift to you. When you and I are done talking, I will leave you alone. You'll be free to live your life or end it any way you want.

~I watched you today walking to your locker. You held it together pretty good. The long walk from the gym to hall number nine. Your locker's all the way at the end, and you counted each locker one by one. You faltered; but then your eyes lit up. Yeah. Your locker was taped with birthday-themed paper. A stupid piece of paper with some silly balloons and ribbons made your day. Or was it that someone actually remembered it was your birthday and bothered to tape your locker? You breathed a sigh of relief. For another year, you won't be the loser who couldn't even get birthday paper taped to your locker. Good for you. For all it's worth, I didn't do it. I remembered your birthday, but I didn't decorate your locker. But you already knew that, didn't you?

~I had to laugh, though. I mean, snapping pictures of your locker sloppily covered with cheap wrapping paper and posting them on Instagram? What are you trying to say? That people actually care about your birthday? Oh, no! I got it. That YOU actually matter! Yeah, you matter on Instagram. Big deal. Do you have a real life? Do you matter in real life? Do you? Do you really want to know? Okay, I'll tell you.

~You matter to me. A lot. More than you think. You've mattered to me as long as I care to remember.

~You didn't know that? Come on! That can't be true! You're either lying to me or you're lying to yourself. Same thing. Even though I hang onto your every move, I bet you wouldn't even recognize me if I walked by and slapped you in the face. I'm talking to you, are you listening? Whatever. I suppose I can only hope you'll turn around and recognize me one day. Maybe.

~So how are your suicide plans coming along? Are you still game now that you know someone actually noticed you at school enough to remember your birthday? Don't you want to know who it is? If you did, would that complicate things? I mean, is it harder to die if you know someone might actually care about your death?

~Do you think your mom and dad would be hurt? Do you want them to get hurt? Is it because of what they did? What did they actually do to you?~

"Nothing! Okay? I don't wanna talk about it!"

~Of course you don't. What else is new? I'll talk about it for you. Your mom works crazy hours and travels a lot. She probably doesn't have much time left to notice your misery. Is that what's bugging you? Do you remember the time she came home with her job offer and sat down with you and your dad to discuss it? No? You don't? Maybe you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself because your dad told you he wouldn't get you that ridiculously expensive new computer you claimed you needed for your school projects. You got so mad your parents weren't willing to buy every stupid gadget you had to have, you resented your mom for staying home to take care of you instead of working. You got so good at piling crap on your folks, they started to believe your future depended on you having stuff.

~Guess what? I remember the whole conversation. I'll be happy to remind you. Your mom said she'd have to work late hours and travel a lot. Dad said it wasn't a good idea, that you would miss her. And that's when you had to open your mouth! Do you remember what you said? Do you?~

"I don't care if you work late! You haven't worked since I was born, and now you can't even afford to buy me a new computer I need for school! And look at this ridiculous cell phone! It's a joke! I'm a joke! Everyone at school's laughing at me because I have an archaic cell phone! If you love me, you'll get a job so I can get a life!"

~I see, you do remember, word for word. So how about your life? Did you get one? Are you in touch with your friends now that you have a cool phone? I saw your contacts, and they're pretty skimpy. Seems like you still don't have much of a life.

~And how about your important projects? Oh, I forgot. That was just a bunch of BS. You don't have any projects your old laptop cannot handle. Instead, you're really busy on all your social profiles. You're so busy in your virtual word, you don't even miss your mom.~

"I DO miss her, all right?"

~You don't say. Really? You know, she's always home on weekends. Maybe if you got out of your room and stayed long enough for her to notice you, you two could get along better. It might be too late now that you can't look her in the eye. I told you not to read her text messages. You little snoop. You got what you asked for. She told her friend she liked some guy from work. Is that why you don't like her now? You and your righteousness. Why did you have to open the text message and place her phone just so that your dad would see it? If you're such a tattler, why didn't you tell him yourself? A snitch is a snitch no matter what.~

"He deserved to know!"

~Did he? According to whom? You?~

"I wasn't thinking, all right? I only wanted him to know the truth."

~See? You think truth is important. So why are you mad at me for always telling you the truth? You did the same thing. Why is it okay for you to do it and not me? Is it because truth can be ugly? Is it because truth may complicate things? Or is it because truth is the magnifying mirror that lets you see all the enlarged pores, blackheads and ugly breakouts you want to cover with makeup and excuses? If this was an exam question, you already know the answer. All of the above. Check.

~I'm wondering, what do you think is the color of
truth
?~

"Pink."

~Pink? Why pink?~

"Pink seems innocent. For some reason, truth reminds me of innocence."

~I wish it was that easy. Your truth got you more than what you bargained for. Before your dad knew your mom texted about some hot, new guy in the office, he was just annoying. A dad who's always trying to be your
buddy
or a
friend
, so that you like him a little more. He was pretty clumsy at that, I admit. Always catching up on the latest teen slang, repeating the same stupid words in front of the very few so-called friends you were trying to impress. So you blamed your dad for your own inability to mingle. You even told him it was his fault your
friends
didn't want to have anything to do with you. You think that was okay?~

"No, it wasn't okay, all right?! They were mean to me! They ignored me, and when I said something, they laughed! There, I said it! Are you happy now?"

~That's not what you told your dad, though. Do you remember what you said? Do you?~

"My friends think you're weird. You always embarrass me. I don't have any friends because of you!"

~He believed you, you know. Of course you do. You saw his eyes. Shocked at first, but then they filled up with pain. You saw it, don't lie to me, you had to. There was so much pain in Dad's eyes, you could feel it digging into your core. It hurt like hell, didn't it? But not as much as it hurt him. Yeah! You're a real prize! Taking your anger out on the poor man who's done nothing but tried to be your friend. Well done.

~How did you feel after you saw your dad's reaction?~

"Awful. Lonely."

~How does
lonely
look like in your world?~

"Gray, dark gray."

~Why not black?~

"I'm reserving black for suicide."

~So the color of suicide is black. Hm... Why? Why not white?~

"I don't know. Maybe because I'll black out, so everything will be black anyway."

~You seem upset. Is it because I said the
S
word? You're the one who wants to commit it, not me.~

"What are you saying? That I don't really want to kill myself?"

~Do you?~

"Of course, I do! Why would I be planning all this if I didn't want to go through with it?"

~To gain time.~

"Gain time? For what?"

~To change your mind.~

"I already made up my mind. That's it! I'm not changing it. Leave me alone!"

~I'm not ready to do that. What? What are you looking at? I care! How many times do I have to repeat the same thing? I care about you! You may not like it, but that's the way it is. Can't help it.~

"You're only talking because I let you."

~So why don't you shut me up?~

"I'm trying. Shut up!"

~That's so lame. You know damn well you're not trying hard enough. Like I said, you're allowing me to speak because you want more time. You want time to go over every little reason why you're doing this. And you actually want me to challenge you every step of the way. You actually want me to talk you out of it.~

"What? Why would I do that?"

~Easy. Your twisted egotistical mind is too preoccupied with all your little problems and injustices and plans for the grand exit. It needs me to keep talking to make sure it doesn't forget any possible reasons left for you to stay.~

"So what?"

~Aren't you a bit presumptuous?~

"You said so yourself, you don't want to die with me. So, wouldn't you want to make sure there is absolutely nothing left for me worth staying for?"

~Maybe more arrogant than presumptuous. Yeah, arrogant. Why else would you want your dad to know your mom liked some guy at work? It was none of your business! But no, you had to butt in. He saw the text and said nothing. He stopped talking. You saw what he looked like. His world literally crumbled. You know what else? Your mom may like a guy, but it doesn't mean she'll go out with him or leave your dad. And you, my dear friend, didn't have the guts to tell your mom why Dad's not talking when she asked you.~

"What was I supposed to tell her?"

~How about coming clean? Oh, no, I forgot. You're too much of a coward to tell her what you did. Like I said, truth can be ugly. And it often cuts both ways. In the end, you all got hurt. Your mom, dad, and you too, I guess. I heard some of their arguments. We all got hurt.~

"Stop it, okay!? I screwed up! You happy now?"

~It's not about me. The question is, are YOU happy now? You're either sorry you opened your big mouth or glad your mom and dad are now bending over backwards to please you because they're fighting with each other. You're probably mad you snooped and found out about your mom in the first place. If that were an exam question, I'd say all of the above. Check.~