Welcome everyone, to another evolution writing visit with Bob, the Chronic Suicidal.
We are nearing the end of our beloved suicidalist’s adventure. We went from all out chronic suicidal impulses to murdering a rapist, to some bank robbers, and well. . .Bob is about to experience something far worse than anything he’s experienced yet.
You think that getting some bad news is bad, right? How about some horrible news? Like the life-ending kind. Alright, now take that and add on a little something more. His family is everything. Despite Bob having taken his own life and hindsight being 20/20, he’s got some regrets. The biggest was leaving his family behind.
Our suicidalist turned vigilante is saved from death and taken to a hospital. He discovers a few things about himself, and his family. This is where things change dramatically. Up until now, he did what he did for himself. Now? Well, change is everything. . .
Check back tomorrow for the next part of Episode 9.
The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Episode 9 – Nothing to Lose
“You’re lucky to be alive, bud.”
The voice seemed close, male; probably one of the cops giving his praise to the unconscious Bob.
“I have to say; I am impressed at your prowess. I haven’t seen anyone do that before, let alone go out of their way to help others as much as you did.”
There was a slight chuckle. Bob’s eyes darted around but still, he only saw darkness.
“Shame, though, all that effort just to wind up in a prison for the sick. You’re one step closer, ya know? To death.”
This. . .this wasn’t a cop, a doctor, or anyone he was familiar with. Who the hell was it?
“You see, Bob. . .I’ve been watching you for a while now. I watched your descent into madness, your struggle, your highs, your lows. . .everything. Now, you’re just caught in the whirlwind of a never-ending war that you don’t even know about, or probably even care to know about. Ah, I suppose ignorance is bliss. A luxury that many of us are not familiar with, nor can afford.” The voice sighed, “But I guess. . .” It seemed to move around Bob before continuing. “life itself is a never-ending war where you struggle between your emotions, right and wrong, poor versus wealthy, and so on. Such a long list of atrocities we can fabricate.”
There was a long pause. The voice seemed to be observing Bob, something.
“You will eventually face your end, Bob and when you do, you’ll have to make the choice. Things are going to get harder. Those you love will die. You will be betrayed. You will be tested beyond what you have come to know. Think about the end game, not the here and now.”
There were a short series of footsteps. They were leaving. “Do try to keep this in mind, will you?”
Some time later, Bob awoke. Machines beeped and took his vitals. He looked down at the IV that was in his hand. The scars still showed themselves to him, but clearly, they were invisible to others. He thought back on the man that visited him. Who was he? What part did he play? Bob had questions and no one to answer them.
A female doctor came in the room, with a clipboard in hand. “Ah, it’s good to see you’re awake. I want to inform you about some bad news.”
Bob looked at the doctor confused. “What?”
The doctor looked down at the clipboard and then at him. “You have an advanced form of cancer. Something we don’t even know about. It is attacking your body aggressively and moving fast. I—I can’t even give you a proper timeline.” The doctor wiped her brow, “I suggest that you get your affairs in order.”
Bob stared blankly at the doctor. “I have cancer?” He chuckled at the statement. “That has to be the most asinine thing I’ve heard in a while.”
“I understand that it’s hard to take in,” said the doctor.
Then, a male police officer entered the room and knocked on the open door. “Excuse me.’
“Oh, officer, can I help you?” asked the doctor.
“I need to have a moment with him if you don’t mind,” said the officer.
The doctor nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Bob stared at the officer, wondering what he needed to talk about.
“I am afraid I have some bad news for you,” the officer began. “There is no easy way to tell you this but. . .”
Bob’s stomach filled with an agonizing despair that seemed to amplify one hundred fold.
“your family was—“
No. . .
“in an accident—“
No—no, please God, no.
Don’t you fucking dare say it!
Bob stared at the officer in shock. His heart rate became elevated. Blood pressure. High. The machines cried with Bob as tears flowed.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” said the officer apologetically, with his cap in hand.
“How,” Bob asked. “How did they die?”
The officer gathered himself before telling him that they had died from being shot at a red light. That there is a suspicion that the action was gang related, but they cannot verify it.
Bob tried to regain control as he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “Do you have any leads? Suspects?”
“Just a general description that fits most of those in the gang that walks the streets around here,” said the officer.
“Thank you,” said Bob as he tried to hold back more tears. . .and rage.
The officer gave a nod and left the room, motioning the doctor over in the hallway. There, Bob sat, alone, with all the worse news ever to be conceived.
Nothing. I have nothing else left that matters to me.
The thought of suicide seemed delightful to Bob. However, he had something more in mind.