Suicide

I've seen the highway rush below me at 60 miles per hour, only two feet away from me. The concept in my mind was that of pink plush pillows as soothing as billowing clouds. My seat belt undone the door open at a 65 degree angle, one hand on the door frame, the other on the door handle, one foot on the floor, one hovering over the dark abyss. I had already leaped in my mind and was just waiting for my body to complete the action. The sins of my past about to be washed away, the fears of my future about to be obliterated into the asphalt. And my spirit to go onward into infinite rest and tranquility. But the voice that had told me that I wasn't good enough, that I would be better off if I was not there, split open my reality with a desperate scream for me to stop. It was as if my finger trigger was cut off. I stopped as casually as I started. Sat back down, shut the door, and lay back chuckling at the closeness of finality.