A Fond Farewell: Writer's Cramp Entry

Goodbye, cruel world?

The thought weighed heavily upon him. He could feel this moment of indecision with every sense of his body. It wafted into his nose on the faint scent of oiled pine. It crept into his bones in the stiff chill that came from the hard, wooden floor he had long been sat upon. The inky blackness of his room quivered in his indecision too. Every dark shape spun softly as his eyes lingering on outline after outline. His every thought turned and twisted on itself, like deep, heavy waves rolling onto a distant shore. The strongest feeling his hesitancy rode upon came not from his eyes, or his ears, but from the sadness that shook to the slow beat of his broken heart.

The brightest light in the room shone in slithers upon the open blade of his knife. The only smile in the room was its wide, curved edge. It welcomed him to break this timeless spell of uncertainty and decide. It welcomed him to choose freedom over sadness. It welcomed him to greet its handle in a firm and confident shake, and do with it what he so wanted to do.

Arthur wasn’t lost to happiness – he knew it existed. It takes a man to really appreciate the beauty and love of the world to feel so utterly without it. It is often the world’s happiest moments that leave some people feeling the most locked out, peering in from the outside. And Arthur saw beauty and happiness everywhere. He saw it in the red, morning clouds as they were lit with the sun’s soothing fire. He felt it in a mother’s soft and comforting touch for her child. He remembered it in the eyes of his friends, as they listened to the jokes he had once been able to tell. He heard it right now in relaxed and throaty chuckles being lifted up from the party downstairs. He even heard it in the occasional, stricken, raised voice that was carried up to his dark room. The person who raised their voice really cared about this world. They were still invested in their own outcomes and they still fought. This was beauty.

The knife was lifted, and two clever slashes were made with it, leaving only a hint of sweet juice on the edge. Everything was in motion; Arthur had given up fighting and once again prepared to descend into blissful oblivion.



His hands moved with urgency, the only thing that stopped their shaking was practice. He grasped the knife again, and this time vibrated the pummel against the wooden floor. The small, silver rock he was crushing reduced itself to splinters. He had four, perfect halves of grapes in front of him, and onto each fresh, wet face he dropped a pinch of this fine powder he had made. Some of the tiny bits of silver dust dissolved into the open grape straight away, and some of the larger crystals merely settled into the wet, fruit flesh. He popped them into his mouth as soon as all of the power had been administered; this time his hands visibly shook.

Now Arthur could really let it all go. All of his torment, all of his pain, it would all be nothing in less than half a bell’s time. He knew what to expect too. It was start with a faint blurring of the sides of his vision. Any fast eye movements would momentarily blind him. Slowly, the physical effects would strengthen. His open knife blade wouldn’t be the only smile in this room for much longer. He had ingested enough magical happiness to keep him sane until morning.

Thoughts of his inadequacies started to seep away. Longing for that concrete, proud happiness that he saw in others soon faded. Desire to make a better life for himself went too. There was no room for self-loathing either. Pity could go out the window too. Arthur bid a fond farewell to all of these feelings and settled into the blissful intoxication that would save him. Again.