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Reflections on SuicideCrossroadsThere comes a time in every man's life where he must take up arms against great struggles on his own. He must fight for his survival, and work to build up his life. This is a life's length of work, and a life's length of struggle. It all begins with enrolment in school; fighting for achievement and working towards the grade. We were all told, or at least led to believe, that these grades would affect us for the rest of our lives. And so we tried hard; some did succeed; some did fail; and some dropped out without even trying at all. School was meant to be a place to learn about math and science and language, but all we ever learned was how to cheat and steal and fight. I guess it's true what they say, boys will be boys, or whatever that means - boys will seek after lust and drink while the men move on up through the ranks of society. So I stayed in school, I fought for my grades and worked to achieve, but all I could get were merely mediocre results. School was long and hard in the city, where people would come and go. There were no friends, but there were enemies, and so the enemies of enemies would become friends - friendships born of hate; lives raised in fear. These long school days dragged on until the bell would ring, day after day. I would fall asleep night after night hoping to see an end to this routine - this regime of hate and fear.

 That was about fifteen years ago now. Time really does fly, huh? I tried in school but got nowhere. I have a simple job in a small shop, working with simple people for a small wage. Where did all the time go? Where did all my life go? Even though I graduated the routine is still dragging on slowly, and it is still as oppressive as it has ever been. I guess I shouldn't be so negative? Hasn't my hard work paid off? I have a small apartment downtown. The echoes of thefts and murders fill the air overnight, and the sounds of traffic and crowds fill the air in the day. Maybe I'm just bored in this city without friends. Nobody cares for one another, they are all caught up in this routine struggle, fighting with each other for the illusion of success. I learned in school about friendships - enough that I no longer trust friendships. I don't even trust myself, but despite that I am my only friend. Only the rats visit here to keep me company. I come home from another day at work, to prepare another day's dinner; to clean another day's mess. I have been incarcerated in my own home, punished for living in a failed society - sentenced to work until I die, only to have an empty funeral to conclude my empty life. I need to break this cycle; escape from this routine.

 I need to get out. I need to get the fuck out. Fuck this routine! I need to get the fuck out!I get outside so I can wander the streets aimlessly. I only hope that I can find somewhere to hide from this circle I am running in. The lights cast long

dark shadows across the cold pavement. The streets are filled with sad and empty faces which resonate with the feelings of betrayal and loneliness. I wonder about each person I pass: who are they now? Who were they before? What did they survive in these cold and empty streets and what makes them keep going? I keep going through long alleys and long streets. The lights splash colour across some buildings, which reach up and across, closing me into this urban prison. I am surrounded by concrete and glass. I can see the cold blue glow of a television set, holding its viewers trapped in its presence. They are held inside day after day nailed to their routine. Papers and cans blow in the wind, rattling down the otherwise silent streets. This night is unusually quiet. Maybe I'm out unusually late. I have never seen the streets so empty and so quiet before.

 I am drawn into the darkness as I keep walking. The lights and signs dissipate themselves as I begin to reach the city limits. A few more minutes and I am swallowed by darkness completely. The moon is now my only torch, guiding me into the wilderness. I do not need to know where I am going, as long as I just keep going further and further away from my routine.I come eventually to a fork in the road. The streets intersect, but I cannot see where they each go. I am surrounded by trees and fields and the fear of darkness and isolation. I am lost, wandering for hours now into the night; into this black maze of confusion. Everything looks the same. I can't even see the city I have gone so far from. Even the moon, my only source of light to guide my path, has begun to set, leaving me to be surrounded by total darkness. I cannot see where I am going. I can not see where I have come from. And yet I must keep going.And so I will keep moving. And so I follow my feet, which take me along a path of blindness. It is now dark - I cannot see. I do not know where I am or where I am going, but still I keep going. For all I know I have just made a wrong turn, but how could I know? I did not know where I was in the first place. I can't even turn back because I do not know from where I came. The signs are just as useless. If I cannot read them, how should I know what to expect? I am now very cold and tired. The moon is gone completely and I am far from civilization. I am no longer even following the roads, but have wandered off the beaten path, into the fields and forests. The wolves stalk me silently as the owls watch me quietly. The squirrels hide themselves in the trees as I, this stranger to the wilderness, have arrived. What is a routine to these creatures anyway? The daily fight for survival, but without laws or alarms or schedules it is hardly a routine. They are never lost if there are no streets or numbers. They go by no name. They call nowhere their home.

 I am now quietly subdued by my exhaustion. I am hungry and tired and cold. I am lost

in total darkness and I can feel the wolves creeping in this maze of trees. There are not even shadows in this total darkness. Now I am truly lost. I lay here, nowhere to go. The leaves form a blanket so that I may rest peacefully in my casket of stones and dead stumps. There are things moving everywhere around me: I cannot see them but I do hear them rustle about the forest floor. I am frozen by my own fear. I left my environment in search of a home. I was unprepared. I was rash - in haste to break free. Now I see the price to pay for freedom. I am now free but I am also now among others who are free, and they too must fight to survive and struggle to achieve. They must fight with me to compete for achievement. They are just as hungry as I am, but now I am lost in their world - a place they call home: lost in the darkness, hidden in the wilderness. Everywhere and nowhere. I am now completely alone....I am not alone, I can hear something now: something big, something hungry. Fear rushes over me like I just dived into a pool of cold water. I thought I was scared until now. My heart is racing, my breathing shallow and rapid. No longer am I tired but I am still frozen in fear - unable to move or even scream. Who would hear me anyway?

 !!Something still stalks me, it approaches out of the darkness slowly. My spine sharply tenses itself and I jump up in fright. I can see two eyes now, glowing an eerie cold light, reflecting back into my soul. I know that glare well, wolf. I want to run but I can't. I want to hide but I can't. All I can do now is stare back into the eyes of death and wait. All I can do is stare back. I think I startled him also when I jumped, because our eyes are locked. I am petrified. I am so scared, for I now know what it is like to stare death in the face.I cannot tell if the speed of my thoughts produced this illusion on me but I felt as if I had just relived my entire life in a moment's time. I remember now who I once was and who I once wanted to be. I can see myself in school, as a young lad playing ball and running around. I see myself not alone but together as a community. I once had friends, but together we all grew up. We were all consumed by life's struggles. Some lived, and some died. Some survived long enough to outlive their struggles. Others were consumed by their struggles and died fighting. We all had forgotten each other. We were all lost in this world trying to find ourselves. How did I get so far from home? Who am I now, lost in this darkness? Where did I go, wandering in this confusion? Nobody is there to help except myself. I should have done more not only for myself, but for others. By appreciating others I can show appreciation for myself as it is reflected back upon me through society. As a society we are all one. Though we are many, we are unified in nationality and culture and in species.

 I am a man, lost among the wolves. I am waiting

for others to pull me out of my mess, like it's their responsibility. I see now what is responsibility: survival of the self. I must fight for myself and for my survival. If I am stuck in a routine then I must act of my own accord and from my own strength and plan to move forward. If not, then this routine means survival for me and so be it my routine. For I now see the routine of the wild: to be born of a womb and to be consumed by a gut. A routine of life and death. In society, we are all men. We stand tall on two feet. We hold our tools with our hands. We look up with our minds. We are a culture filled with riches and gifts from heaven. The animals do not appreciate the music I enjoy. They cannot see the beauty that I find in the sunrise. I happen to be stuck in a routine, alone and tired, but I am the one who put myself here through lack of planning, and lack of action. I let myself walk into my own demise and here I am, about to die by my own accord.I face death as it glares back. I stare into the cold blue eyes of this rugged creature. The wolf's fur shines in the twilight as the sun begins to break over the horizon. Blue shadows slowly creep through the trees. How long were we here, watching each other? Maybe he is just as confused as I am. Why am I here, he wonders. He wonders the same thoughts as I am, lost in this confusion. I cannot break free from this routine, but still I survive. I can go home and turn on a tune, or watch the sun rise. Routine, as dull as it may seem, does not need to be a prison. For even the cycle of the days and nights are routine. Imagine that the earth abandoned her responsibility to uphold the cycle of time? How could the earth survive such confusion?

 As I keep staring, the wolf's gaze keeps penetrating deep into my soul. I can feel the cold swell within my body. My muscles are stiff from fear. My eyes are weak. Slowly, but suddenly, the wolf looks away, and retreats into the cover of the woods. I am still in shock, looking with a blank stare, expecting him to turn back, and to pounce me, and consume my flesh and my life. Maybe with the sun rising, his cover of darkness is gone; his domain subsides for another day to await its return later in the routine. Suddenly, I can see where I am. I am no longer lost. The light sheds itself across the whole land, and reveals itself the familiar landscapes that I once knew. From here I can get back home. I can find my way down these roads, roads so unfamiliar under the cover of darkness, but when illuminated by the rays of warm sunlight, I can only call them home.