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by
missingthumbs

The third time I committed suicide was the easiest. The tap tap tap of my soles running up metal stairs, the perfect rhythmic response to looped announcements ventilating from white camouflaged speakers in the ceiling.
I hear 'This is a security announcement. Please keep all bags attended....'
I hear 'Could Mr Smith recently arrived on flight VS0028.... '
I hear 'For the consideration of others Please smoke in the...'
I hear my own heartbeat and think Thank God it's almost over.

Running out of breath to meet my last breath, I push through grey double doors and let the view take me in. The Runway. End of journey. Oil stained concrete and red wind socks shiver in the petrol fume haze. To my left a window segregating me and the Boeing 747-400 hooked up through it's concertina iv tube to departure gate no14. Virgin Atlantic livery painted on the side. I take in the flying lady logo on the side and wish that I could look as majestic when I jump through the glass of the observatory into the flightpath of 12:30 Gatwick to Orlando. Gatwick Airport. Busiest hub of the world. Where the jetset and council estate kids mix in snaking lines to economy check in. Three hours prior to departure. Nails scissors in suitcases. Biting nails out of nervousness. Your holiday starts here and you better enjoy it.
My target: Commuter jet rammed with 330 passengers.
My target: The end. The end of my probation.
My target: A pact made between two pilots.
My target: The window...
Metal bar. *Smash* Jump and I'm though.