Tag Archives: suicide

2495. Orlando

(Bits of this story are pinched from Virginia Woolf)

It was not to be Orlando’s lucky day. He was about to put his head in the gas oven when he realized he couldn’t reach the knobs to turn it on while his head was so low. So he had to get up from his kneeling position and just as he did his sister barged in and said, Oh! I see you’re about to cook and I was going to invite you for dinner this evening. We’re having guests. They are from the Netherlands and I know you speak a bit of Dutch.

I don’t speak much Dutch really, said Orlando, but I suppose I’ll come if it would help.

It certainly would help, said Orlando’s sister – whose name was Bridie. Apparently they can’t speak English and having someone there who knows the odd Dutch word would be a great help.

So Orlando went along and he’d never met a couple so rude in his life. Arrogant. Haughty. Conceited. Completely up themselves. Totally superior. He hated them.

Bridie had a gas oven and when they found him he was beyond recovery.

2325. Tragedy begets tragedy

When one is poor like myself, one frequently wonders why someone from such a rich family would do himself in. But that was exactly what Jake’s nineteen-year-old brother, Tate, did. When he missed out on getting selected for the local soccer team, he went out into the back shed and hung himself from the rafters. The parents were away at the time and it was left to twenty-year-old Jake to untangle the rope from the body, call the police, and phone the parents.

Jake spoke at his brother’s funeral. He said, “This time last week I had no idea I’d be needing to do this.”

His parents took it very badly, which is possibly why on the first anniversary of Tate’s death, Jake’s mother went out into the back shed and did exactly the same thing. Twenty-one-year-old Jake was devastated, as was his father.

Tragedy begets tragedy. On the second anniversary of Tate’s death and the first anniversary of the mother’s death the father went out into the back shed and…

Need I go on?

Twenty-two-year-old Jake inherited the lot. As he drove off in one of his father’s Vintage Tucker Automobiles he couldn’t help but think that it may have taken a lot of planning but it was a job well done.

1926. Lockdown down

(Warning: This is not a nice story)

Valencia had had enough. It rained and rained and rained. She wasn’t too worried about the Bloxham family, the neighbours on the left hand side; she was more concerned about Janet on the other side of the road. Janet lived alone, and with total lockdown demanded by the government, there really was no way that Valencia could check on Janet.

In the end Valencia could take it no longer. She had obeyed the lockdown orders for two months now. She left her house, strode across the road, and knocked on Janet’s door. Janet answered.

“I was just checking to see if you were okay and if there was anything you needed,” said Valencia. Everything was fine, so Valencia returned home.

It can’t have been more than twenty minutes before the police arrived. The Bloxham’s next door had seen and reported. Their neighbour was wandering the neighbourhood indiscriminately. Valencia explained to the police that she had been checking on a neighbour. That was not good enough. Valencia was issued with a warning.

Valencia had had enough. It rained and rained and rained. She went into the kitchen, turned on the gas, and stuck her head in the oven.

1652. Well there ya go

(Thanks to GP Cox of Pacific Paratrooper for giving the opening sentence, and apologies in advance for turning out a horrid story.)

“Well there ya go, it happened again.”

It was the saddest thing; Ollie Hope was teased at school. It was closer to persecution. Others viewed him with distain. He was a bit thick, a bit slow, a couple of nuts short of a fruit cake. All that the other students would ever say to Ollie was “Look what the cat brought in.” To which Ollie always replied, “Well there ya go, it happened again.”

It was like pressing a button.

“Look what the cat brought in.”

“Well there ya go, it happened again.”

“Look what the cat brought in.”

“Well there ya go, it happened again.”

The truth was, Ollie wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t know how he was meant to respond to such a silly statement, especially since it happened all the time and was clearly meant as a torment. His reply had simply started out as a sensible response to “Look what the cat brought in” several times in a row. “Well there ya go, it happened again.”

Poor Ollie didn’t make too many friends. He was a bit of a loner, but not from choice. When he hanged himself in his parent’s garage it was the third school suicide within as many months.

As one teacher observed: “Well there ya go, it happened again.”

And everybody laughed.

1408. The best-laid plans

Once Mandy had decided to commit suicide she began to plan things meticulously. This was to be no spontaneous act. Every detail would be thought through.

She searched the internet for methods. She downloaded dozens of coroner’s reports. Timing was all important. No need to be discovered a week after the event.

And then she planned the funeral. It was to be simple yet elegant. No bought flowers by request, but flowers cut from the garden would be most welcome. No turgid hymns but lively renditions of “O happy day!” and “We all live in a yellow submarine”.

All was decided. Mandy would gas herself with the exhaust fumes from her car. But where to park the car? And what to wear? So many important decisions to make. She needed a hose to go from the car’s exhaust to the front seat. Or maybe she should sit in the back seat?

I suppose an ordinary garden hose would do the trick, thought Mandy as she drove to town for a final time to purchase the equipment.

That was when the car skidded on an icy bridge, plunged over the side and plummeted down a steep ravine. Mandy was killed.

Poem 37: Loss

(The poetic form selected for this month is the Standard Habbie aka Burns Stanza).

For eighteen years I nursed and fed.
I can’t believe, son, you are dead.
I try to fathom things you said.
I weep a bit –
The life that we together led –
The end of it.

I’m here to clean out all your drawers;
Your shirts and trousers, socks and smalls.
I’ll pack them quick before I bawl.
This coat I know!
Too short for someone quite so tall!
Such thoughts bring woe.

I’ll leave it for another day.
I cannot clear the past away.
Someone else can pack, I say.
I cannot hide
The path you took when things turned grey –
Your suicide.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

955. Laced vanilla custard

955custard

Eloise wasn’t stupid; in fact she was rather clever. She had a degree in Chemistry and had worked for a time at some industrial plant before getting married off and having three children. But now, for whatever reason, she wanted to step off the planet and be done with it all. But she desired to die a seemingly natural death. She didn’t want to foist the reputation of a graphic suicide upon her family.

Eloise would throw dinner parties and quite sophisticated ones too. For several years she practised with arsenic. Just a little arsenic could make it look like her guests had got food poisoning. Once she had perfected the technique she would make several of her guests ill from food poisoning, and administer the big dosage to herself. How tragic (but totally natural) would be her death.

The occasion came. The guests arrived.

There was Lord and Lady Milford. Lady Milford would get a mild bout of food poisoning from a trifling dose of arsenic in the Three Cheese Ravioli appetizer.

There was Hector Staffordshire and his partner Countess Ascrida Rognvaldsdatter. Hector would get a mild bout of food poisoning from a trifling dose of arsenic in the fresh homemade Caribbean Angel Hair Pasta in a rich creamy chardonnay sauce, topped with fresh calamari, shrimp, and capsicums.

The other dinner guests would get off scot free, apart from Eloise herself. She would get a terminal bout of food poisoning from the decadent slices of apple, caramelized with cinnamon and dark rum, served over arsenic-laced vanilla custard.

Everything almost went according to plan, although Lady Milford had a cheese allergy so Eloise served the arsenic to her husband. It didn’t matter who got food poisoning as long as it was someone.

Next the Countess Ascrida Rognvaldsdatter kept sharing little bits of poisoned calamari to Hector Staffordshire, as lovers do; giggling and shoving little titbits of this and that into each other’s mouth. It was most annoying, but both would pay for it in the end.

And then came the dessert-time. Eloise got muddled. She had dished up the dessert and couldn’t remember which one had her portion of arsenic-laced vanilla custard.

Lady Milford and the Countess swept into the kitchen to help, uplifted all the dessert plates at once and deposited a dish in front of each guest. One of them would die. But who? All began to eat.

And then Eloise remembered… Her three children were in the kitchen tucking into leftovers…

To listen to the story being read click HERE!