What would be someone's motive for having his suicide being witnessed in person, and what is that whitness supposed to learn from such an act?
Before I begin, I will warn you that the content of this post is very adult, very graphic, and is in no way meant to be taken in jest. This is not a copy and paste, this is in fact an original posting from the hand and desk of Adrian Santiago, 24, of Arlington, Texas.
Last year, a man of age 60 contacted me over the internet. He informed me that he had been following my progress as a young filmmaker, and had come to take great interest in the hardships that prevented my advancement. In his original e-mail, he stated that he had something for me that he could trust with nobody else, and it’s something that had never been given to anyone of my chosen profession in history.
He also said I had no choice in the matter, and in fact, I actually owed it to him to accept this “gift” he spoke about.
This gentleman didn’t request an answer to his e-mail, and continued as if I had already accepted. As a matter of fact, he sent me $500 in cash via Paypal, as well as an e-ticket for an airplane ride to his hometown in New Mexico… the specifics of where, as well as his name, sadly, have to remain shrouded for reasons that will become clear as this story goes on.
I thought it best not to tell anyone where I was going, or even that I was leaving at all. Seven hours later, I had gone to the airport, flown across the Southwest United States, and found my way into this gentleman’s home… a small, simple structure that you wouldn’t find any other way than by invitation. It was here that he shook my hand, sat me down at a well-decorated dinner table, and set out a feast the likes of which would feed entire families, but was only intended for the two of us.
While we ate, the man told me about his life. That he and his family fought in every war they were invited to, for the simple reason that they could. He and his kin found a unique, purging release in being able to end many lives during those times of conflict. The way they saw things, they believed that the only way to end suffering on a global scale would be to eliminate all life capable of suffering.
The old man never spoke in detail, but instead, spoke with an indescribable focus: An expressionless tone that permitted no questions.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the man stopped his tale. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and began to tremble with frailty. Of course I was concerned, and I asked what the matter was… he told me that the poison “just kicked in”.
Though physically weakened, the drive of his tone was still strong, and I knew he wasn’t lying to me.
I asked him where the phone was, he said he didn’t have one. I asked him where the nearest hospital was, and he told me “In a town where people want to live forever”. I asked him what he wanted me to do to help, and he said “You can stop panicking and respect the last wish of a sinner.”
My blood ran cold. My face began to tingle indescribably. From the elbow to the tips of my fingers, I felt powerless over the situation. As if to tell me that it wasn’t my problem, he stood up on his own strength, walked over to the dusty, worn recliner in the corner of the room, and motioned me over to him.
He told me that in all of my movies, people die… and people talk about death with intent to threaten one another. He said that even here, in the same room with me, he can see that I was afraid of death because my first reaction was to scramble into action… to do everything I could to stop it from happening.
“That’s not what you’re here for, young man… you’re here to see the peace that comes with Death… you’re here to listen to my final word before my time is over. After this, maybe you’ll see why death isn’t as fearsome as you believe it is.”
I knelled beside him, at his request. He told me there was a large envelope on the nightstand in his bedroom… and that I was only to open it after he had died. To be frank, I was out of my mind… I felt that someone somewhere was calling the cops, and that I would be going to jail for doing nothing… or because they would think I killed him.
It happened a lot faster than I thought it would have. His chest began to react as if he was coughing, except he wasn’t. His eyes widened, he was looking straight ahead, unblinking…
He said “Fear…”, and then gave a large exhale. His eyes didn’t close, save for a few odd twitches on his face, he was still. There was nothing magical about it, there was no majesty behind it, he was just dead. I sat there for a few moments… no other sound seemed to exist for a few moments. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do with him… but I remembered the envelope.
Inside was $1,000 and a note that said “Don’t be a fool, take everything you brought in with you, leave me wherever I am, and go home. Stay quiet about it until you think the coast is clear, then write something about what you learned here. Don’t thank me for this, I was going to die anyway… my dying wish was that my death would mean more than my life.”
That’s all I’ve got. In case anybody noticed a drastic change in my persona from last year to this one, perhaps it’s the difference that one year has made… or perhaps it’s the difference one night has made.
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