Behold, Gas, a story I wrote over the weekend. I have been reading O. Henry for school recently, and it has influenced my writings somewhat, as in the case of this and Wash, Rinse, and Repeat.

This was it. The end. I had had enough of life, and was going to end my small part of it. I believed in life after death, and figured that, whatever it was, it would be better than this.

I went into my room, devising the least-painful way to die. I decided on gas. I closed my door, stuffing a blanket of mine around the cracks to make it air-tight. I knew I had around fifteen minutes before I would die. I wanted to know the instant before I did, so I set an alarm on my bedside clock. I then went over to a small panel on my wall. I reversed the flow of the Carbon Monoxide pipe. It would usually pump out any CO that was in the air, but it was possible to change it so that it would pump the CO into the room. I turned off oxygen and nitrogen, along with the Various Gasses pipe. I lay down on my bed and glanced at the clock. Thirteen minutes to go. I took a deep breath and focused on the reasons I was leaving.


The killings.


Love, my tormentor, worse than Stanford and the killings combined. I had tried, so very hard. But nothing I could do would change her mind. She left me.

My vision began to blur slightly, so I closed my eyes after looking at the clock once more. It said I had seven minutes left.

After around five more minutes, my head was buzzing, and I couldn’t focus on anything anymore. Not even the image of her face, smiling at me, the sharpest and most painful of all my memories. I once held onto that picture tightly, but, in time, it had grown to pierce my heart every time I brought it to mind.

My mind went blank. Entirely blank.

I dimly heard my alarm go off, right before my neck slumped limply on my pillow.

Then there was nothing.




When I awoke, I was surprised to find myself laying in my bed. I had thought that heaven would be … different. Everything in my room was the same. My head hurt, no doubt a side-affect of dying. I swung myself out of bed. Even the physics were the same. No surprise, I thought. I walked over to my window, hoping to see roads paved with gold, people walking with smiles on their faces. Instead I was greeted with the same, cracked, grey, poorly-made roads that the Central had made.

Disappointing. I had hoped the afterlife would be nicer than this. I decided that the physical aspect of everything stayed the same while everything else was nicer. I made up my mind to keep being optimistic in my first day of death.

In the case that it was that everything physical was the same, I went over to the gas panel. I opened it, turned the carbon monoxide the correct way, and flipped on oxygen, nitrogen, and various gasses.




Surprisingly, my day went much the same as they usually went, except that everything seemed like it went better, and I kept an optimistic view on the things that didn’t.




I headed to my room to turn in for the night, but froze when I saw the window. It was about an inch open. I hadn’t opened it this morning.

Shock overtook me when I realized what that meant. Yes, I had passed out yesterday. But I didn’t die. There was enough CO in the air to knock me out, but not enough to kill me, because some of it wafted out the window, and was replaced by good air.

That…that meant that I die. I didn’t…die.


You can download it here:


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