An Older Short Prose...

Sometimes I think it would be better if I were dead. The radio buzzes static.

I don't think this for solely selfish reasons, though I'd be lying if I said there were none.

Somewhere in the back of my head it registers that I hear a hoarse child's voice call, "Daddy."

Life is somewhat an embarrassment for everyone but I feel my life has been an embarrassment for others.

More static. It needs to end so others don't have to suffer. "Daddy," The voice is less hoarse but still

it squeaks. If ending life hurts the ones you love and living life hurts the ones you love, how do you

choose which will hurt them less? The static buzzes louder, growing urgent. If they could just understand

that I want to help them and that I would be better suited as memory than a constant reminder. "Dad..."

If only they could see that my death would be like my life, underwhelming. The static stops.

I just wish they knew that I'm not doing this to hurt them. I never turned the monitor off after she died.

Life is as predictable as death, a flick of the razor, a click of the gun, a slip of the pill. "Daddy..."

They may not believe me...but they're better off... slip, flick, click.