Note: This is a work of fiction

I look over my work schedule. I work all day tomorrow. I work all day to supply myself with things I need to sustain my life of working. I am a loyal employee. I'm going to kill myself tonight.

From what I've heard Japan has these suicide pacts. Strangers talk on the internet and agree to meet each other to die together. I would consider it, but I'm trying to die and a stranger on the internet is more likely to do something worse than kill me. Who is the suicide pact equivalent of Chris Hansen?

Imagine watching "To Catch a Depressed Loser". I walk into a room. I ask where Hitomi is. A strange man tells me there is no Hitomi. Why are all these cameras pointed at me? They tie me up so I can't hurt myself. I try to bite my tongue off but it's much harder than I ever anticipated. I scream something about samurai.

I'm in a courtyard wearing a white robe. I am kneeling in front of an audience. My bowels are clean. There is a man on a stool to the left of me, and another on the right. I can hear another behind me. Far ahead of me, an extremely important person sits on a well crafted throne. He mutters something, and his assistant screams words I don't understand. I know what he wants, though. I feel the sword tearing apart my insides. The one behind me cuts my head enough that the pain is over, but enough skin is left that my head doesn't go flying. I gently slump to the ground.

I pull myself out of bed. I bought the alarm clock with the highest gain but the worst speakers. When it goes off, the radio plays the most distorted, horrifying noise I've ever heard. I wake up every morning terrified.

Supposedly in ancient Marseilles if you wanted to commit suicide you had to apply to the Senate and convince them to let you do it. I'm cutting of a slice of ham steak for breakfast. I let the knife slip over the ham towards my wrist. Somebody stops me.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you have the necessary clearance?"

I tell him I applied ages ago but I was tired of waiting. I'm in a courtroom. A bunch of old men are looking me over. A soldier siezes my knife. They ask me to explain why I should be allowed to kill myself. I tell them I hate my job. So get another. I tell them that any job would make me want to kill myself. Won't anyone be upset when you've gone. No, I've taken care of that myself.

They look at each other and shrug. The soldier gives me my knife back. I cut along the inside of my arm, vertically. I'm no greenhorn. I don't even feel it. I realize how hot the room is. I let the shower run so long the mirrors are fogged. Maybe I just won't shower today. Maybe I just won't leave the house.

Its so hot. If you want to go the route of self-immolation, does it have to be in protest? I look at the numbers. Some of these guys survive. Probably not worth it. I light myself on fire just in case.

A young preacher in a Wal-Mart parking lot told me that in Hell you can't help but burn. I asked him why souls could feel pain. He laughed, and from then on I knew he had dealt with lots of people like me. I was smug before, but the realization that I was just like everyone else really hurt me. I'm just like every other know-it-all asshole, and it makes me want to rip out my eyeballs, so I do. Now I can't see how worthless I am. I still want to die.

I consider making the trek to Aokigahara.
It couldn't possibly match my expectations. I'm hanging from a tree by the neck. The view is amazing. I can see the lake from here. There's a guy hanging nearby. He looks much younger than me.

We make eye contact, and smile awkwardly. He asks me if its my first time here. I tell him it's been my dream to die here. He seems excited. Have you read Tower of waves? I haven't. Despite his disappointment, he politely converses with me until we both slowly drift into death.

My tie is on too tight. I don't loosen it. I check my pockets to make sure I have everything I need, and I set off for work.