Heather is twenty-four and works for a dead end job for a firm. She has no title for her position, but the amount of money she gets paid has kept her quiet for a long time. That is, until now. At the moment, Heather is typing an email to her boss and coworkers about just how much she happens to hate their guts.
Some things in the world are common sense, such as being happy because you are truly, utterly happy and living life because of that. Other things are fixed. They're fixed by society and they make everyone believe that's how they're supposed to be. Being happy and thinking you're the shit because you make a lot of money to pay for your big, shiny cars and your wife's new 35DD tits and crack addiction is an example of that. (This one being directed towards you, Steve.) It doesn't make you the shit, it makes you SHIT!
Remember when everyone had dreams? Actual dreams, no matter how stupid they were, like being a star in a circus or marrying the love of their lives. This was not my dream and neither was it any of yours. You all pretend you're happy in this shit office, doing shit work, like this is life you were meant to live, which is not true. You're the director of your own life and we all deserve a fucking Golden Raspberry for how shitty these films have turned out.
I, however, am just like all of you. The difference is that I've gone and done some thinking and realized how much of a fuck up I am while the rest of you sit and oogle Stacey, the office slut, while your wives, whom you don't love, are at home cooking and cleaning. But now, I'm done. Not just with you all, but with myself. Consider this my two weeks notice, if I'm able to live that long.
See you in Hell,
Without taking another moment to contemplate her actions, she hit send. Staring at the screen, she took a deep breath and ran her hands through her long, blonde hair. She leaned back in her chair and turned it around to take a look at her surroundings; one last goodbye. She said goodbye to the desk holding all her important documents. She said goodbye to her lamp that gave her light to read her favorite books. And lastly, she said goodbye to the sleeping man lying in her bed. She got up to kiss his cheek, but before she did so, she sat down to take his presence in. She watched the silent rise and fall of his chest. She watched the way he slept. It was rough because of his overly masculine physique, but the quietness all around the both of them made it peaceful. She kissed his cheek and went into the kitchen.
On the table were various bottles of medicine with pills scattered around and a bottle of red wine. Heather sat down at the table and sighed. In front of her was a giant window. It was open and she could see into the apartment across from hers. It was a kitchen just like hers, just with different furniture. A simple, brown wooden table with a vase of fake flowers. The apartment belonged to Ned. Ned was about thirty years old and stayed at home with his cat and he never spoke to anyone in the apartment complex. Heather wasn't sure he talked at all. He looked and stared as if he was just taking in the world. Or maybe he was, but the sad part was no one would ever know.
She started to take the pills one-by-one; just placing one in her mouth after the other like a child eating from a bag of candy for the first time. Once they were gone, she opened the bottle, placed it between her lips and drank.
At first she felt nothing, everything was just as it was before. Then everything started spinning and she felt as if she was going to melt along with everything else in the world. Colors dissolved and spun together to create this obscure mosaic scene that was her kitchen. She didn't know how it felt to die, but it was worth the headache. There was nothing more for her in this world and that was that.
To be continued?