SUICIDAL DEBATE

I opened my eyes.

I was in a train car.

Before me, dark silhouettes flickered into view.

I began to count.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

I stopped counting when I saw the seventh silhouette: a child, head bowed, sitting on the floor.

I tried to approach through the center aisle, but the shadows—which until then had merely occupied their seats—used their bodies to bar my way.

…

Confused, I tried to speak, but no voice came.

Driven by a deepening curiosity, I backed away and found a seat situated directly across from the others, offering a straight line of sight to that small, youthful figure.

The aisle to reach it was long; the closer I drew to the seat I felt was mine, the further it seemed to recede.

The other silhouettes took their places as well, their gazes transfixed by the view outside the window.

I sat down and, naturally, I asked: “What are you looking at that makes you seem so distant?”

I was startled to hear a voice so distorted. I tried to speak again, but without success.

The silhouettes stared at me—all except the child. In voices that were vastly different yet eerily alike, they told me:

“This is the Outside.”

Startled by their response, I looked down, then toward the window, my fear finally outweighing my curiosity.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My eyes drew closer and closer to the glass.

It turned out that the “Inside” was composed of static images—frozen moments from my own past. Each silhouette watched one specific moment with rapt attention.

I felt hours bleed away as they continued to stare at those images. I grew weary and parched, yet I could do nothing but remain there.

With time, I began to feel the weight of their gazes—the silhouettes, waiting with an expectant apathy for my next move.

In a fit of nerves, I looked at my hands and saw something that chilled me: parts of them were turning dark, as if I were becoming a silhouette myself.

Almost as if I were becoming one of them.

As time passed, my skin grew darker; even my eyes began to cloud, gradually blinding me…

At some point, I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes and I was still there. The darkness of the atmosphere was terrifying, yet somehow, I felt comfortable—I couldn’t explain why.

From one moment to the next, I found myself standing, though I had no memory of moving.

I took a step without a second thought and saw the boy. His head was raised now, tears streaming down his face, while the pocket watch in his hand struck midnight.

I took another step, and another, and another, until I reached a small bench.

It was colorless, yet I remembered the vivid, lively yellow I used to love.

I placed one foot upon it, then the other.

I closed my eyes, and a loud sound echoed from the distance.

It was a metallic sound, like the ticking of the boy’s pocket watch.

“Did I fall?” My thoughts became dissonant.

The bench vanished, and the sound of the rope tightening around my neck became absolute.

Tears rolled from my eyes as the agony took hold.

I felt it more with every passing second;

My eyelids grew heavy. Still, fueled by desperation, I tried to glimpse my surroundings.

The silhouettes began to rise. In a heartbeat, everything went silent.

…

In that instant, the train windows shattered.

The memories that were once mine flooded the car, revealing only the scene of the silhouettes shielding the child—and a chorus of gazes that condemned every last corner of my soul.

The silence blinded my mind.

Consummating my death with a final:

“I give up…

…"

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