Page 2: para 7: “intensives” s/b “intensifies”.

Loved this story. Though I was worried about the guy’s sanity when his tie got caught in a printer. But when you’re dying it’s understandable if your brain starts misfiring.

Woke up with the thought: the storm is his oxygen.

And, the copier bit was because of the hanging... he's in the noose. Yes, should have been obvious to me on the first reading... but, I didn't put 2 and 2 together.

The good news is that I was still thinking about this a couple of days later.

A slog, a real slog. No dialogue definitely hurts this script. It caused me almost physical pain to get through it. It was torture. I'm not even really sure what happened, I think my mind has deleted it already.

Criteria Met (Y/N) – I don't care.
Story (1-5) –  2
Characters (1-5) – 3
Dialogue (1-5) – 0
Writing (1-5) – 2
Overall (1-10) – 3.5

A few weeks ago a man committed suicide in the park where I walk my dog.  He brought his own stepladders and a rope then hung himself from a tree.  Last year my step-brother hung himself in his home. Suicide seems to be around me at that moment and although I've not thought seriously about doing it, the desire to just give up, and give in to the darkness is something I do identify with. 

I wrote this for myself and found it quite a cathartic experience. I honestly didn't expect anyone to get it, so I'm pleasantly surprised that some of you did. Yes, the majority of the tale is a symbolic representation of the depressive crazed state of mind of someone committing suicide. Everything in the office represents being worn down by life, succumbing to the darkness and seeking a way out at any price.  

The singing and the woman represent hope and the knowledge that this too shall pass. And if you just hold on for a bit longer,  things will be a little better.

Thanks for all the comments and especially to those who understood. 

I once saw a guy commit suicide right in front of me. I was also talking to the guy the day before he did it. He was in on gun charges, looking at a 5-stretch, and we were in a holding room. He showed us a photograph of his missus who was very fat and not particularly attractive. He was depressed, missing her like crazy, he seemed fucked to me, not the type of guy that should be in on the charges he was, but I don't know the full details of his crime, I'd only be speculating that he was taking care of the weapon for somebody else. After he left the room, the rest of us took the piss out of him. The next day, just after being let out of my cell to go to the gym, I saw the same guy climb to the top of a gate. He tucked his hands into the back of his jeans and dived headfirst to the floor. I didn't watch the impact because I saw it coming. I remember the sound though as he hit the floor, the gasps of shock, the squeak of shoes on a polished floor, the sound of the alarm. I didn't get to go to the gym that morning.

Another time, in another jail, there was a 70+-year-old guy who used to say 'aye' to almost everything. So we knew him as 'Aye'. We kinda looked after him and he hung with us on the yard every day having a laugh. He was in for hitting his next-door neighbour over the head with a hammer over some silly argument. Anyway, the day before he got out, he discovered that he wouldn't be able to go home, that he would lose his council house that he'd lived in for forty-odd years or whatever and that he was moving to a hostel. That night, he hung himself in his cell. Crazy that he handled jail easy enough, but he couldn't handle losing his home.

I've never understood that kind of mentality. Life is such a precious thing, we need to eke every ounce. When it's gone, chances are it's just gone.