The guild of the dead

Trigger warning: suicide

Am I supposed to be watching this? I don’t know if it’s normal for dead people to watch themselves, dead, like this. I have no clue because obviously, I am dead for the very first and last time.

It’s funny how I thought that I will be at peace when I finally get rid of all the burdens my life on earth had to offer me, but I guess it’s certainly not the case.

I took my life about an hour ago, and here I am looking at my dead body just as they show in movies- My wrists slit open, the bed all soaked in blood, and the suicide note lying on my study table. I am all set for cops to come and take my pictures.

While I wait for people to discover that Robin Clayton has left the world a little too early, I take a look at my suicide note. When I was alive I wanted to become a writer and I read a lot of books, articles, and blogs about how to write different things, but suicide note was not one of them. So I am not sure if I got it right or not. However, I began to read it for any errors I might have made while I was writing with a storm of negative emotions and when my tears were oozing from eyes which made it toilsome to see what story my hand and pen were telling the paper.

To all the people who might think that I am a coward or “was” a coward, 

I don’t know what’s happening, all I see is black. I am hopeless. I know nobody’s going to help me, they just shove at me their own solutions, they don’t and they can’t see that I am going through hell. I have been through hell and maybe after I end my life, I’ll get a permanent residence there. 

Nobody understood me, nobody understood the real me. They didn’t know of who Robin really is- was. I gave up so much, so much for others and they still judged me and told me that I am mean. They told me I am mean when I spent a little money on myself while the ninety-five percent of it I gave for my siblings’ tuition fee. For a few months or more I was in a position where I thought I should just move out. I planned to move out of this hell but I couldn’t because I didn’t have enough money to do it. 

I am in debt and the thought of it made it hard for me to sleep at night. I also am tired of people judging me, telling me how bad I am. And deep down they don’t care at all about me, they just do it because I am an easy target. Today if I tell them, I want to move out, for good, nobody would help me or approve of it. I even told everyone that I would kill myself if this torture won’t stop; if they won’t pull me out of this torture cell. They didn’t listen. It was not my fault that I was born in a family like this where a father won’t take any responsibility of his kids, and where a mother is always struggling to do what is right and good for everyone, which I don’t understand how makes her live with a man who doubtlessly does not deserve to be with her. You can read my diaries to see the daily accounts of affliction and misery I went through in this torture chamber. 

I think God should not give kids to people who can’t take care of them and on top of that hurt them physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

I don’t know how things will go after this, but I blame everyone who ridiculed me and didn’t show it through their actions that they actually care for me. I blame the society who won’t let souls like me, breathe. 

I thought I could live a better life if I just hold it together and like they say, ‘fake it till you make it’. But I guess this is the end. 

From,

                                        Robin Clayton, who fought hard to survive. 

I look at the note and think that I won’t make sense to anyone. It’s just a piece of paper inked with emotional blabbering. Maybe I could write a new one before anyone gets here. I try to hold a pen but my hand passes through it as light passes through glass. Judging by what’s happening I think I am a ghost and it really is like they show in movies, I wonder how they know all this.

With that thought I do what ghosts do- walk through walls and closed doors. And woo-hoo! I can do it. My family is out of town so I can’t see what they are doing. But I see my neighbor Mr. Pat shaving in his living room while watching TV and on the other side Mrs. Peter making breakfast for her husband who is already seated at the dining table waiting for breakfast while reading the newspaper. Its fun being a ghost, but it’s sad how I can’t share it with anyone. No one around has any clue of what happened in apartment 302.

I am enjoying the perks of being a ghost and I wonder how long will it last, just as I’m about to go across the hall to see what my crush would be up to, in a blink, I am in a garden. I look around and as far as my ghost-eyes allow me I see greenery, trees and flowers and all sorts of plants I can’t name. They look beautiful but I am scared because there is no trace of humans or ghosts around. Being dead is confusing.

I look around and I don’t find anything but pages from the book of botany coming to life. After a long while of searching, I give up and sit down on the ground which is covered in grass with a perfect shade of green. I take in the view and savor death. As funny as it may sound, I am glad that I did not end in hell as I expected.

I am relocated. Again. Now, I am sitting in what seems like the groups they have for drug addicts, cancer patients, and people who are depressed. The only difference is that the group I am in is the ‘Secret Guild of the Dead.’

“Welcome aboard, Robin,” The guy who looks like a shepherd of this lost sheep, welcomes me.

“Thank you”, I reply, full of confusion. I see people of different ages, ethnicities, gender and I bet even nationalities sitting there in a circle, around the ‘shepherd’. It looks like they are on a picnic enjoying sunny Sunday afternoon with friends and family after a tough week of work.  

“Please join us,” the shepherd says. I smile and sit down with them because I don’t think I have any say in this matter. They all seem like nice people and they look equally confused as I am so I feel a little easy that we are all sailing in the same boat.

“You all seem confused, but don’t worry it happens to everyone. Here, we are just going to look at your earthly record book which has an account of all your deeds -the good and the bad. And from it we will simply decide where you will be living,” the shepherd tells in the most sugar-coated way as possible.

I get nervous, but I don’t sweat my nervous sweat as I used to when I was alive, so that’s good. We are all 15 people and I am sitting in the middle of the chain, which satisfies me a little that I won’t be the first one to be ‘judged’.  

Without introducing himself the shepherd starts his session with Sylvia. He tells that she died in a car crash and then begins to confront her for the actions and reactions from her life when she was alive. It went all nice and smooth. She was confident about every answer she gave and when they were done, poof! She disappeared. Without us knowing where she went.

This looks scary now. I get scared. Scared to death (only that I am already dead) of where I will end up because obviously, my life was not as smooth as Sylvia’s. I had my ups and mostly downs.

Next comes, Willem. His life’s book is not as good as Sylvia’s either. It is actually not good at all. He was a drug dealer and had a lot of crime on his ‘tray’ of crimes. And just like Sylvia, Poof! He vanishes too. By every verdict that is, obviously, not disclosed in front of us, I get more terrified. I look around and only three are left, after that it will be my turn to evaporate like Sylvia and Willem.

I run, run for my life, or should I say peaceful death? I don’t know I just run before they make me evaporate. After I am far from the ‘picnic’ site I bring my hands to my knees and close my eyes to contemplate what is happening.

A few moments later I open my eyes, and I am standing right in front of the shepherd like I was never gone. The only difference is that, because of my escape, I am standing here for judgment, before the three people who were supposed to be judged before me. And now,

I

Am

Unredeemable!