It was past midnight and Violet was wide awake. In her bedroom she lay supine on the bed, arms splayed.
“Meeting with HR at noon,” she whispered, and the sound of defeat in her susurrations sprung loose a tear drop. “I’d rather be dead,” she thought, not for the first time, and she wiped away the tear.
The meeting with HR only served to remind her of her failures. “No more!” Violet snapped. With the precision of a robot she was up and out of bed and making her way to the bathroom. She did not need the lights on, she knew exactly where the medications were. Behind a mirrored door her fingers found them. Arms loaded with rattling bottles she padded to the kitchen. From the fridge she fetched beers, before returning to her bedroom with her supplies.
“To hell with everything,” Violet said, and clinked her beer can with a pill bottle. It wasn’t just the meeting with a superior who hated her, she reasoned, pushing the pills into her mouth, and swallowing them with the beer. According to her five year plan, now ten years old, she wasn’t supposed to still be working at this job. “Should be long gone,” she burped. She got a little giddy and began to laugh. “No,” she said, and waved a finger in the air, “I will not be writing a suicide note!” She chuckled and continued consuming the poisons. “It’s not enough I do myself in? What the hell more is there to say?”
She felt the pills begin to take effect. Laying on her bed, she carefully styled her right hand across her chest, and fixed her fingers so that she was flipping the bird. Soon she was plummeting to a peaceful leaden sleep whence she would remember no dreams.
The next thing she knew was a searing white light. She had no idea how much time had elapsed, if any. “I’m dead!” She gushed, overjoyed. And then startling herself she yawned. Her fingers automatically reached for her face, touched at the soft skin, yet still all she could see was a blinding bright light. “Am I?” she said to no one. Hearing her own voice shocked her, “what the…,” she uttered, and blinked as the brightness of daylight blared at her.
“Not dead!” Laying still she took quick stock. She wriggled her fingers, her toes, intact, check. “Damn it!” She surged out of bed and almost took a spill on the mess of empty pill bottles all over the floor around her bed, with her arms helicoptering for balance she steadied herself. Standing amidst the rubble, hands on hips, she had to acknowledge she had never felt better in her life. Surreal. It was a moment before she thought to check the time. Turned out, if she hustled, she could make it to the HR meeting. “Seeing as I’m alive,” she reckoned, heading for the shower, “I might as well show up. Ask for a raise. Damn it.”