Suicidal Intentions: Firing Squad Read online

SUICIDAL INTENTIONS

  (Part Two: Firing Squad)

  by

  J. Niessen

  * * * * *

  Published by

  Suicidal Intentions: Firing Squad

  Copyright 2014 by J. Niessen

  Cover Page by J’s Art Emporium, Copyright 2014

  Thank you for downloading this eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the material remains in its complete original form.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  Author’s Note:

  Though tragic and emotionally devastating in the eyes of our Lord, there’s a unique, complex, and fascinating aspect to suicide. This behavior is typical of a riddle; one that has entered my consciousness, and nags at me to solve. There is no way for us to know for certain the solution to this puzzle. But based on our own psyche, we can use that information to understand the mental imbalances and adverse perspectives of others who need our help in guiding their way. These lost souls desperately long for emotional support to sustain earthly survival. They need help finding Christ. He is the only way to alleviate this mental disease. If you’re done living for yourself, then start anew by living for the One who truly loves us, and fully understands you.

  * * * * *

  Suicidal Intentions, Table of Contents:

  Part One: Lethal Injection

  Part Two: Firing Squad

  Chapter One: Expectations

  Chapter Two: Broken Bones

  Chapter Three: Senseless Acts

  Chapter Four: Nightmarish Places

  Chapter Five: Mental Impressions

  Chapter Six: Asylum

  * * * * *

  SUICIDAL INTENTIONS

  Part Two: Firing Squad

  Chapter One: Expectations

  “Most people don’t know what they want,” Zeke tells his younger coworker Brandon, both standing behind the counter of the Fish & Chips fast-food counter, and insert their cash tray into the register they’ll be servicing. “The customers head in here honestly believing they know what they want…to satisfy their hunger; they probably have the image of a seafood combination special from some recent advertisement stuck in their head. And yet it never fails! By walking through those doors they start second guessing themselves, searching for something else, scanning the detailed pictures of each combination platter; questioning what sounds better. They ponder the alternate choices, making us and all those behind them wait.

  “Here’s something most people never figure out,” Zeke (the crew manager) offers as he mops the floor, peeking up at Alfonse back in the kitchen tending to prep work, then turns back to Brandon. “The lower echelon of society looks to celebrities, believing they’re good at figuring things out. Industry leaders know about this,” Zeke tapping the temple of his head, to suggest sharp wits. “They invest billions of dollars in this notion. Everyone knows the rich and famous have tons of money to dispose of. The common consumer figures those in high society have a lock on what the best things in life are, and thus follow their example. But they’re wrong.

  “Celebrities don’t know what they want either. They’re just as lost and confused. They think they want success, and to have all eyes on them. You see, Brandon, having attention is their drug of choice that they’re addicted to. They strive for that fix, but at the end of the day they don’t feel any better than the day before. They wake up the next morning with a depleted satisfaction. It’s an endless cycle as they push themselves to face the oncoming routine, hoping to fulfill expectations, convinced that if they strive hard enough, those successes will provide them with gratification, and make living worthwhile.

  “Ever wonder why they chose to overdose in a hotel?” Zeke keenly inquires.

  Brandon pauses as he’s gathering the plastic sacks filled with tartar sauce, ketchup, and mayonnaise for the emptied condiment island. The answer is obvious, implied through keenness. With a topic of his own in mind, there are two things Brandon must do to make a successful transition. Answer the question, and hope the new topic’s smart enough to gain Zeke’s favor.

  “Probably because those close to them never show genuine love or concern, and the only way their body would be found soon enough is by housekeeping.” Zeke incisively nods to reflect correctness, then Brandon goes on “Since we’re exchanging thoughts, here’s something that’s been going on in my life, something I thought you might be interested in. Have you had any strange dreams lately?” Brandon is taking a chance by mentioning this. Most find it taboo, and instantly clam up. Zeke considers the unusual inquiry, before shrugging it off.

  Hoping the thought-out lesson will still yield effectiveness, Brandon timidly admits…

  “I’ve never really told anyone this, because I never really knew what to make of it all. And because I was afraid it would create an awkward moment between me and the one I’m telling. But you seem different than the rest.” Brandon’s fingers are secretly crossed, hoping Zeke truly is different than all the others, before uncrossing them from behind the condiment counter. “I used to have dreams when I was younger…where the people in my dreams would tell me unique details. The things they said were like life lessons; as if I were being mentored for my later years in life. Have you ever wondered how the people in your dreams come about? Like seriously, where do all those strangers and their characteristics come from?” Zeke just shrugs.

  “You know what the characters in my dreams used to tell me when I was younger?”

  Zeke, looking to lighten the mood answers, “That this is all a dream?”

  Brandon counters soberly, “No. They’d tell me “You’re in Hell.”

  Zeke is awe struck, boosting Brandon’s trust to further the topic, rather than drop it.

  “Take a moment to consider there is such a place. What if when some people dream, that’s where their conscious goes to?” Zeke’s complexion flushes a ghost-white. “What is it, Zeke?” Brandon wants to rush over and ask, but stays focused to press on…

  “The problem is, I stopped trying to remember the things I was told in my dreams, and you know what happened?” Keeping quiet, gripped by the conversation, Zeke simply nods to rouse response. Wiping down the tables ahead of his manager, Brandon goes on: “The dreams stopped. I wasn’t dreaming about relative stuff anymore. I began to appreciate its significance when it was gone; when my fears insisted those types of dreams would never return. I wanted to experience that special insight so bad I researched how to dream more vividly….”

  Brandon looks to make a distinctive connection by pointing out a personal observation about Zeke, his coworker. “I can tell by the way you talk about things, Zeke, that you sense there’s more to life than just living it the way we want; that we have a role to play. And if we waste the talent we have, then how can we expect it to improve?”

  “I…” Zeke’s voice nearly fails. Clearing his throat he admits, “I know exactly what you mean.” Invigorated, Brandon speaks out on an important aspect to all our lives, cleaning off the last tabletop before stuffing the napkin dispensers and setting them out on the tables.

  “Talents are things we’re good at. And once you break it down you’ll realize, keeping in mind that we have a role to play, that talents are the reason why we’re here. Simply speaking talents are characteristics that please us. They’re like a gift.” Seeking to use a basic analogy, Brandon shares…“If someo
ne were to give you a pencil, they expect for you to use it. That’s why they gave it to you!” he says with a chipper smile. “They never say, “Now this is what I expect you to use this for…” It’s yours to do with as you wish! Draw, write, sculpt clay, build a technical device, or sadly even throw it away. But why would that person, who gave you that pencil, seeing you aren’t using the gift they gave you, give you a better one?”

  Brandon concludes with a very personal explanation…“So that’s what I’m doing with my dreams. I’m using a pencil and writing down the dreams I’ve had lately.

  “I plan to post them on the web, or maybe draft a memoir and have it published, rather than just keeping those images and that insight to myself, to gradually deplete and fade away. And since I came up with this resolution, my dreams have increased in numbers, showing more graphic details and explanations. I guess what I’m trying to say is that when you find your talent, don’t wait around to use it.” A profound realization expands in Zeke’s head.

  Brandon hopes Zeke will impart personal details, and passes on the opportunity of conversation when asking “Is there anything you find yourself exceptionally good at?”

  Zeke hesitates to mention the haunting dreams that first began when he was a teenager. That to make those bedwetting nightmares stop he would engage in challenging activities, delving into a digital world called online gaming. It’s there that he develops something to be proud of.

  While immersed in that vivid environment, he controls the ability to manipulate violence and cause chaos to other online gamers. He creates realistic worlds that are riddled with traps. And for a while it seems he’s found a cure to the haunting nightmares, as the dreams stop.

  But life’s complications pile up. Balancing work and school Zeke has little, sometimes no time for further development of these digital environments (once offering release of anxieties). And so Zeke develops a physically involved hobby. If Brandon were to learn of this secret Zeke could face incarceration, throwing away the college tuition his parents worked so hard to provide him. Their instruction reminds him, “You can do whatever you want to after graduation.”

  Zeke takes one last consideration, before resolving that the risk of exposure is too great, he can’t jeopardize his ultimate plans. Plans stashed away in the back of his mind, waiting to take effect once he’s finally completed college, if it weren’t too late by then. Stowed away is his desire for revenge; his true talent stifled; his passionate reason for living forced into remission.

  Anxious to drop the subject Zeke answers, “I’m good at cleaning floors!” to make light of the question. The moment is surreal, and Zeke questions silently “Why am I here?”

  Uncertainty transitions into frustration, followed by boiling hostility as each frustrating aspect of Fish & Chips surmounts. All the time Zeke’s spent working here feels wasted!

  “Doesn’t it get to you how this company is so tight with their wages?” he mutters to Brandon. “It’s ridiculous how we’re practically forced to take on a second job, because this one won’t give us the hours we need to make ends meet. Think about the money they spend on all the weekly flyers, with printed coupons and inflated product pictures, sent to every--single--household here in this major town. And all the commercials they air, just so people will have a funky image, or the next catchy jingle of this restaurant stuck in their heads.

  “Now, think about some of the more popular hamburger restaurants around here; the ones that pride themselves on quality. Here’s a trick-of-the-trade, Brandon,” Zeke admits as he squeezes the mop with the cleaning bucket, imagining the head of his nemesis pressed tightly in-between the apparatus, before swabbing the rest of the dining room floor. “Delicious, well prepared meals…and genuine customer service is what spreads the word around town, and makes a business profitable. This company that you and I are slaves to, is driven by greed. I see the quality of the food and the serving portions decline as the mouths on the governing board increase. They gorge on profit while starving the company as efficiently as possible.

  “Then to make themselves look better they put on charity drives, like their feed the hungry banquet, while on a daily basis they dish out malnutrition to the everyday consumer with poor quality products, as hardworking employees such as you and I prop the company up.”

  Zeke reaches his wits’ end. Deep seeded issues which generally surface when he’s going over monthly bills have been summoned. The focus required to get through the morning’s shift responsibilities depletes. There’s a tug inside him, insisting he excuse himself out the back door of the restaurant, find one of the regular transients that scour the parking lot (in search of free handouts) and give that worthless bum a swift punch to the gut. With the proper technique he may just force a gut-retching reaction, claiming exuberant liberation as the degenerate vomits.

  There has to be another way to redirect this energy, Zeke challenges himself. That’s when a shaking revelation arrives. What if he could manipulate his coworker, so that Brandon finds the same sense of emotional freedom, by introducing him firsthand to this discordant means of therapy? Brandon’s suggestion to grab life by the horns has Zeke convinced now’s the time to develop this discrete outlet. Even if it were a couple hours a day spent together, Zeke can still manage his tasks. It offers hope to finally go through with his well kept plan of attack.

  “How would you like to hang out for a few hours, later on after work?” Zeke says to Brandon as he goes to unlock the front door of Fish & Chips at 10 am. Brandon thinks the invitation over, adjusting his headset so it fits comfortably for the first half of his shift.

  Brandon has always secretly wondered when the two of them would get the chance to hang out. Zeke doesn’t yet realize that he’s found an ideal protégé. Brandon plays down his excitement and the ecstatic joy fluttering in his heart. As energy pumps through his body he wants to shout with enthusiasm for finding what he hopes to be his true lifelong friend.

  Brandon grew up without a father in his life. It was just him and his mom living in a low-income apartment. Because she had to work two jobs, they saw each other only a few hours each day (before school and after as he sat and did his homework, while she prepared dinner).

  This fatherly absence creates a longing for Brandon to seek out a substitute, male role model. His adolescent years consist of sitting alone for what feels like days at a time in an empty apartment without human interaction, then lying in bed at night dwelling on his utter lack of fulfillment, by going through life rarely noticed. To amend this emptiness, Brandon resolves to do whatever it takes to gain the favor of a supportive male figure, no matter what the cost.

  At school his personal mission to find companionship propels Brandon into problematic circumstances involving school personnel of deviant intentions; those who exploit his hopes, placing young Brandon in compromising situations, leading to coerced involvements. These male predators manipulate Brandon’s longing to be loved, to satisfy selfish immoral appetites.

  Those who seek out boys such as Brandon, to exploit, have an unnatural hunger that will never be satisfied. In this sick depravity of sexual gorging they move from one unknowing individual to the next. Soon after abandoning Brandon, to feel lonelier than ever in the already dark and empty world he feels cursed to. Seeing that those around him have found their source of joy, Brandon chases the promise to find peace, convinced that if he doesn’t give up, he too will eventually find his source of contentment and live happily for the rest of his days.

  Brandon learns not to let his defeats ruin his dashed-aside hopes and confidences. He accepts suggested ideologies to justify the plaguing memories of his tainted past. Though the lasting film of his involvements is like tar, he’s trained himself to displace this guilty conscience. It goes against everything he’s resolved to be true, giving in to the suggestion: there is no God. His mind is torn by sensible realization. His educational mentors the ones insisting during class there is
no moral standard we as advanced mammals answer to. But then what’s responsible for making him feel guilty…when doing the things his heart tells him is wrong?

  There’s an overpowering notion that surfaces. It accuses him of being a filthy and worthless person. In that time of trial, Brandon has developed a trick; if he pretends to be happy then that false security spreads to others. Subsequently a temporary peace comes over him in the midst of an unfulfilling day; keeping his mind busy helps to abate the dark, interjecting voices.

  It’s why he took this job at Fish & Chips. Brandon has excellent math skills, qualifying him to work the cash register. Because of his chipper personality, shown during his initial interview, the franchise manager takes a liking to Brandon, understanding he would fill the role of drive thru attendant nicely (as Zeke was due for a promotion).

  “That depends. What did you have in mind if we do hang out?” Brandon, in a playful way responds to Zeke’s offer. Brandon realizes he’s holding his breath and that the beating of his heart may have skipped a beat as he waits for his coworker’s response.

  Realize--that in this vague moment Brandon has no idea what possibilities await. It’s scary, and fanciful, and so addicting to go through this rollercoaster ride as if for the first time, all over again. The horrible ride operators that came into his life in the past (the carneys as he would refer to them) are a distant memory, cast aside as an insignificant, horrible dream.

  This relationship he and Zeke are embarking on holds beguiling potential and hopes without borders. “Let your emotions take a step back,” a conscious voice of deduction instructs Brandon, reminding that in the past he’s exhibited over eagerness…scaring prospects away.

  “Well,” Zeke responds, finding that Brandon appears receptive to the idea, “I was thinking we could go to the mall and just hang out for a little while. We don’t really have the opportunity to chat on a personal level here at work. What’s your schedule like later on?”

  Brandon reaches for his phone to check his calendar and make sure nothing is marked. So many times Brandon’s disappointed others, and himself, for not checking.

  “It’s up to you,” Brandon replies. “I’m free whenever.”

  “How about 8-ish?”

  “That works for me,” Brandon confirms.

  “It’s a date then!” Zeke humorously agrees.

  Pleased by the playful response, there’s a rush of suggestions which flood into Brandon’s mind. But it’s far too early for him to blurt out whatever pops up. Wounds still resonate in his conscious from prior lashings he’s put himself through. His hands held behind him. His fists balled up. His self manicured, slightly grown fingernails press into the palm of his hands, sending a painful warning. If he doesn’t get this flutter of emotions under control he’s gonna spoil everything. His floor manager Zeke will reject him, ridicule him, and make his life miserable like so many have before. “Don’t you dare say it,” he hears the voice of reason scold him. “Don’t you dare ask “Should I wear something nice?”…you flaming homo!”

  “Where’s the best spot to meet up?” Brandon hears himself say, and nearly exhausts all air in his lungs to breathe a sigh of ease.

  “Just text me when you get there,” Zeke responds, wanting to check a few things out first, before they meet up.