[R A D I C A L]

' PLEASE!!! ' Open to Reno kneeling on the floor in tears. Crumpled up tissue falling out of his weakened hands. Trying to gather but struggling to care. Total despair. A pan behind shows a television screen, and Chris Chaos' most recent entry. Looking up at floppy rabbit ears saps any sanity Gabe had managed to scrape together. He was already so fatigued from carrying Chaos for months before overcoming him. Bitch slap here, a knife edge chop there- Rated R, R & R, funny how his promos never get very far. It was time for a good cry. Letting go of all that would soon be gone. Preparing for the inevitable. Merciful release in Chris' general direction. What a relief. Gabe knew that he must rise; get back up from the hurtful misuse of not just him, but all of bunny-kind as flaunted by Chaos. What a piece of rabbit hating trash. Who would give a bunny a gas mask? Rising wasn't what was being felt. In the radically flowing heart and lungs... something else make itself present. An air bubble in singular vortex ready for a fresh undertaking. A dark simmering deep in his chest. Indigestion? A heart attack? NO- worse. One... gasp of hatred. Gabe's usual half-dim half-just ejaculated expression turned to an adolescent fit the likes of which has never been seen, and God willing... won't ever... again... WAHHHHAAAAHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA! Not ANOTHER gasp! oooOOOOoooOOoOOOOOO!!!!!! IN A CAGE THERE WILL BE A LAST GASP! but... FIRST! PLLEEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! PLLEEASSEEEEEEE! CHRIS! PLLEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSE! I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE! CURTAINS... BUNNYS!? BUNNNNYYYS!? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?! PLEASE!!! ... PRETTY PLEASE. WITH FUCKING CHERRY'S, AND SYRUP, AND EVEN CHAOS ON TOP! He gets up punching a closet door in shame. Looking at his hand, wondering how far the power of anger could take him. Wanting to get over things and move forward. To somewhere else, anywhere else. His feet wouldn't move. Hands of fucking stone. Sitting in tormented light, behind curtains of idiocy. Gathering... gathering... nope, composure lost once again. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!! KILL YOURSELF. Seriously, kill yourself. Kill yourself. Before the match, after, during... surprise me. Right now. Please? Gabe pulls out a chest from under the bed. A creaky sound as he explores what's on his mind. Moving a few things out of the way leads him to hesitate... sight locked on a forgotten memory. Opening a brochure on "Savory Suicides". His tears gleaming chasing the perspiration down his face. A book from a time when he was a lot like Chaos. Pathetic and needing to be put in his place. Page by page Gabe goes through the options. Some more upsetting than others. Learn how to sky dive like the pros, with no parachute. Stand up to a thug, then ask him to go down on you. Make eyes at a lady who already has a man; push Jay-Z in the back, and call Beyoncé to rant. Become an eye in the hills, all demented and fat; oppss... I forgot, you've already done that. Kiss a frog on the lips, in the back of a van; tell the cops she was 18, until felons tie back your hands. Stuff a sock down a hole, then light it up; make sure it's soaked in gas, so that you can choke on the blood. Tip a cap, to be courteous to a convict at large; trade shirts with him, then try to steal a car. COME ON! YOU AREN'T TRYING! Listing to ME! THIS IS ABOUT YOU DYING! He rips all the tissue out of the box, and throws it in a tantrum into the air. I don't want to make you feel guilty- but you are... guilty. Killing yourself isn't as bad as it sounds; you could even choke on the candy bar, Mounds! Don't fret over Miss Myst, you don't OWE HER... okay, if it really tears you up, you can use a lawnmower? Get creative... a dirty syringe isn't quick enough! NO- I don't trust that you "just will". Stay in sight, and fucking KILL YOURSELF. The pain will subside, and in its place will be... solidarity. For me. Okay- OKAY! Don't bust a nut. Don't bitch out, maybe those old grassy lawnmower blades will still cut. Try walking on a high level construction beam with no harness; start living on the edge of a cave with bald Amazonian black chicks. Come to church with no donation; give the pastor's wife a personal preview of Revelations. Walk into a Gold's Gym and call Robbie Bourbon gay; or maybe it would work just throwing your cabbage patch dolls away. Was that supposed to be our secret? AHHH who even COLLECTS THOSE ANYMORE- PANSIES LIKE YOU SHOULD DIE- OUTDOORS! Fixated looking through a window to all the spots in nature perfect to perish at, above, under or beside. Wonder filled eyes turn back to rage. Questions poor in, with no sure answers gained. AAAHHHRGGGGHHH!!!!!! KILL YOURSSSELF! PLEASE! CHRIS!!!!!! PLEASEEE! DO IT FOR ME! FOR US! I AM FUCKING BEGGING YOU! LASP GASP!? I AM THE LIARR????? WHATTTT!? KILL YOURSELF. RIGHT NOW! HURRY! BEFORE YOU KEEP TALKING! A page turn in the brochure to the "blunt instruments of suicide for dummy's" sections. Ah, an ole fashioned baseball bat. Take a bat to the temple. It really can be just that simple. Hold your ear to a pop of Pringles; because you make about as much sense as Kris Kringle. Your words are like spears, directed at yourself- SEE you DO know how to point in, NOW take the gun OFF the shelf! Deliberately die, let the fear roll out of you, snide- ugly ways you try to hide, even with a down inside. Seriously, what does any of this mean- you make me stupider from your deeds. I used to be smart before you and me. Now, I feel it drained out of me like tree sap- AND pal, you're gonna fucking pay for THAT! Explain to me some of these phrases- this isn't Showtime at your normal queer house of faces. We like to make some sense, without having to repent; even with you in awe, of my cum on your tits. Drip... drip... Looking back at the promotion on the screen. The tunnel is narrowing!? Are you inviting me on a date!? Rabbits don't need gas masks! THEY ARE LIKE YOU. MEANT TO DIE! Finger banging gesture, then one of a gun in the mouth. KILL YOURSELF! DOOOO IT! He turns another page to the "Electric Executions". Suddenly things take a turn for the darker. Almost as if Chaos has become his own marker. Run into a running drill. Jump off an amusement ride for a thrill! Capsize your boat in the sea. Choke on a dill pickle for me. Just hold your nose and mouth shut. Forget when I start to strut. Lay down on some hot tar, shh, it doesn't care who you are! Trust me, I would not really lie, but I really would hot poke your eyes. You could concave a roof on your family, or throw some rocks at a Crue of Motley. Jump over the moon, just make sure you don't land in my room! Save a whale with mouth to mouth. Say you love cock down south. Leave a bee in your hands, just to see if it stings away your glam. Threaten to kneel during an anthem; then call the Christian Reich and go at them! You can slip on a banana into a bear trap. Asphyxiate in the closet in a Jenny mask. Fuck someone who's deathly sick... maybe bleed out from that hangnail on your... dick!? AAHHHHHH!! WHAT IS THAT!? KILL YOURSELLLLLF. Here's a gun, now blow it! Have a solid GO AT IT! Electrocution is dynamite! Drowning is definitely still ALRIGHT! YOU CALLED SOMEONE ELSE SHALLOW!!!?? THIS ISN'T EAR PORN! I have a cure for you- in CAPSULE FORM! Onto a chapter entitled, "Toughies- When It's Time, Don't Overthink It". Take two and call me in the morning; take three, and I might mention you in future recordings. Take four, and I'll do even more for you; five, and the VIP treatment will be silver plated and less rude. Oh- and I'll look after Myst for you; hold her hand at the funeral and listen to her laughingly trash you. We'll start fucking, and maybe pop out a couple kiddies- taking all your pictures down so that maybe one day they'll feel pretty. And your stuff- we'll split the middle right down. When it's all burned to the fucking ground, I'll dump the ashes on top of your gravesite then cover it with starving maggot hounds. Kill yourself. I really mean this! Take the final hit! Laughing into the face of an ice pick! Don't think about it, just let nature occur; it was only a matter of time until you found out God hates Panda fur. One of those... what were the odds? Even on your best day, the band would pity play you off. He gestures like a trumpet player, then closes the book, wiping tears from his delicate cheeks. I can't do this. Not another day. Hornswoggle has made a bigger impact on wrestling today. Chaos is fiction in a work full of fact... driven to be what he can't, and refusing to give it back. Severance is coming, in a final paid due; just so I can smirk while I hand it to you. We can't let this go on at this rate, it will just get more depressing, then I'll suffer the same suicidal fate. You have to die in order for the world to be right; that and a guy paid me 10k to do it last night. Short on cash, I ignored it at first as an option- then I remembered all the times I could've put our partnership up for adoption. The man who made the offer was reckless for a solution; even if I dumped your body behind a Barbie house after the execution. I told him it would be emotional, and hit a sour note; he loaded the gun and said that you'd want a motorboat. It was almost like he ignored all that I said, but it made sense once he turned around with chaotic scowling dread. You don't have to pay me to kill you, because you're going to do it; oh, I'll still keep the money, don't worry I'll run you through it. No need to be stingy on the Warfare stage, I've been looking forward to a world without Chaos for more than a hundred days. Reverent and deep in his head are the problems, then out of the blue something distracts him, and suicide forgets it's condoms. NOT THIS TIME! Protection won't be an excuse; even Death is here to stop the inner abuse. An intervention by all of your closest friends, to save the rest of us, and to actually make sure that you end. Alas, the day wans on and my FIT IS GAINING STEAM! Potent enough to sabotage any hope of leftover Chaotic seeds. "Tragic," they'll write, about how they won't forget; the man who change their opinions with a version of IT! Only, I'm afraid these are harsher critics- who know why you're clowning around in XWF sewers to try to get some arm pit! Look AT ME! ARE YOU LOOKING!? KILL YOURSELF. KILL YOUR SELF. He opens back to Chapter One again. How many Chapter One's can a man handle!? I can't handle the loathing and self-righteous puns. The abuse of holy animals, or the molestation of helpful nuns. 12!? WHAT THE FUCK!? Your sin is spilling over, right into my lap; boring but hot, like a rash on Jenny's snatch. I'm tired, and lonely, but that's not the worst part... you won't kill yourself, and I have to fart. Backed up with anger... constipated with pain... the only thing that makes me sick now is hearing your stupid NAMMMME! You think a cigar will help you cope, or are you finally coming to terms with being out of hope? There a changed in the winds, and all they bring; a whisper of Chris gone and I pleasantly fade away. Thing is- it's so few and far between... because you keep gasping, while I'm talking! Concentration is hard when you have so much on your mind; oh yeah, look who I'm speaking to... you haven't have a rational thought since 89'. I can't even think about training for our bout, my head swirls around with visions of your brains blasted out. Can't we make a deal, or a compromise to agree; I'll cut off your head, and you can take your knees?! It'll be our last adventure; stuck together with blood, watching the teeth go down the drain from your dentures. Cut the CRAP! Stop the denial. You haven't been to the top of anything since your last Iconoclast dial. Bitches aren't harmless, you can't let their bullshit go; even though they keep coming back, and can't understand the word NO! Moistening my eyes and ears out with ignorant idealistic jokes; remember your negligence when you slit your own throat! Can I do it!? Do you accept volunteers? Are you the only one in the world of Chaos allowed to be feared? Not far from now you will open that mouth across from me. Dumb and scared, because you want to run from me. Gifted with gab and treasure undiscovered, I yield the sword that blows through your mother. Come at me bro, with more of your objects as a gag- I'll turn you around and pull the bunny ears out of your ass. Fuck your sensibilities, and all you explain, the game is the game, and your conqueror has the same name. Now light up a cig, or something to distract you, it will only take a second... then you'll fall back like a real Jew. Why all the hype, let's call you what you are; cheap on the tab, and always wearing a funny hat at the bar. Turned down is one thing, but that's all that happens... more like a catastrophe, like the career that almost happened. Chris Chaos is a figment of the imagination. His game is weak, and we are all done with this fascination. The frenetic aura of old times this match delivers is just that... old. Ancient. Like Doc D'Ville swinging his dick disillusioned out in the cold. Well- use all your strength and cup your lips; inhale softly and take comfort that death feels like this. TAKE A BIG BREATH! Throwing the vile book of suicide's in disgust. Last Gasps, no matter how many, cannot shield a fate that you deserve, plenty. Of all the things you try to pass by, my favorite autistic one is the feeling of... goodbye. A frantic silly sensationalized wave. The angle abruptly zooms out the window of the house as the curtain close behind. CHRIS- WAIT! JUST LEAVE BEHIND... A CHALK OUTLINE. Kill yourself.

[Gator]

' PLEASE!!! ' Open to Reno kneeling on the floor in tears. Crumpled up tissue falling out of his weakened hands. Trying to gather but struggling to care. Total despair. A pan behind shows a television screen, and Chris Chaos' most recent entry. Looking up at floppy rabbit ears saps any sanity Gabe had managed to scrape together. He was already so fatigued from carrying Chaos for months before overcoming him. Bitch slap here, a knife edge chop there- Rated R, R & R, funny how his promos never get very far. It was time for a good cry. Letting go of all that would soon be gone. Preparing for the inevitable. Merciful release in Chris' general direction. What a relief. Gabe knew that he must rise; get back up from the hurtful misuse of not just him, but all of bunny-kind as flaunted by Chaos. What a piece of rabbit hating trash. Who would give a bunny a gas mask? Rising wasn't what was being felt. In the radically flowing heart and lungs... something else make itself present. An air bubble in singular vortex ready for a fresh undertaking. A dark simmering deep in his chest. Indigestion? A heart attack? NO- worse. One... gasp of hatred. Gabe's usual half-dim half-just ejaculated expression turned to an adolescent fit the likes of which has never been seen, and God willing... won't ever... again... WAHHHHAAAAHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA! Not ANOTHER gasp! oooOOOOoooOOoOOOOOO!!!!!! IN A CAGE THERE WILL BE A LAST GASP! but... FIRST! PLLEEASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! PLLEEASSEEEEEEE! CHRIS! PLLEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSE! I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE! CURTAINS... BUNNYS!? BUNNNNYYYS!? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?! PLEASE!!! ... PRETTY PLEASE. WITH FUCKING CHERRY'S, AND SYRUP, AND EVEN CHAOS ON TOP! He gets up punching a closet door in shame. Looking at his hand, wondering how far the power of anger could take him. Wanting to get over things and move forward. To somewhere else, anywhere else. His feet wouldn't move. Hands of fucking stone. Sitting in tormented light, behind curtains of idiocy. Gathering... gathering... nope, composure lost once again. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!! KILL YOURSELF. Seriously, kill yourself. Kill yourself. Before the match, after, during... surprise me. Right now. Please? Gabe pulls out a chest from under the bed. A creaky sound as he explores what's on his mind. Moving a few things out of the way leads him to hesitate... sight locked on a forgotten memory. Opening a brochure on "Savory Suicides". His tears gleaming chasing the perspiration down his face. A book from a time when he was a lot like Chaos. Pathetic and needing to be put in his place. Page by page Gabe goes through the options. Some more upsetting than others. Learn how to sky dive like the pros, with no parachute. Stand up to a thug, then ask him to go down on you. Make eyes at a lady who already has a man; push Jay-Z in the back, and call Beyoncé to rant. Become an eye in the hills, all demented and fat; oppss... I forgot, you've already done that. Kiss a frog on the lips, in the back of a van; tell the cops she was 18, until felons tie back your hands. Stuff a sock down a hole, then light it up; make sure it's soaked in gas, so that you can choke on the blood. Tip a cap, to be courteous to a convict at large; trade shirts with him, then try to steal a car. COME ON! YOU AREN'T TRYING! Listing to ME! THIS IS ABOUT YOU DYING! He rips all the tissue out of the box, and throws it in a tantrum into the air. I don't want to make you feel guilty- but you are... guilty. Killing yourself isn't as bad as it sounds; you could even choke on the candy bar, Mounds! Don't fret over Miss Myst, you don't OWE HER... okay, if it really tears you up, you can use a lawnmower? Get creative... a dirty syringe isn't quick enough! NO- I don't trust that you "just will". Stay in sight, and fucking KILL YOURSELF. The pain will subside, and in its place will be... solidarity. For me. Okay- OKAY! Don't bust a nut. Don't bitch out, maybe those old grassy lawnmower blades will still cut. Try walking on a high level construction beam with no harness; start living on the edge of a cave with bald Amazonian black chicks. Come to church with no donation; give the pastor's wife a personal preview of Revelations. Walk into a Gold's Gym and call Robbie Bourbon gay; or maybe it would work just throwing your cabbage patch dolls away. Was that supposed to be our secret? AHHH who even COLLECTS THOSE ANYMORE- PANSIES LIKE YOU SHOULD DIE- OUTDOORS! Fixated looking through a window to all the spots in nature perfect to perish at, above, under or beside. Wonder filled eyes turn back to rage. Questions poor in, with no sure answers gained. AAAHHHRGGGGHHH!!!!!! KILL YOURSSSELF! PLEASE! CHRIS!!!!!! PLEASEEE! DO IT FOR ME! FOR US! I AM FUCKING BEGGING YOU! LASP GASP!? I AM THE LIARR????? WHATTTT!? KILL YOURSELF. RIGHT NOW! HURRY! BEFORE YOU KEEP TALKING! A page turn in the brochure to the "blunt instruments of suicide for dummy's" sections. Ah, an ole fashioned baseball bat. Take a bat to the temple. It really can be just that simple. Hold your ear to a pop of Pringles; because you make about as much sense as Kris Kringle. Your words are like spears, directed at yourself- SEE you DO know how to point in, NOW take the gun OFF the shelf! Deliberately die, let the fear roll out of you, snide- ugly ways you try to hide, even with a down inside. Seriously, what does any of this mean- you make me stupider from your deeds. I used to be smart before you and me. Now, I feel it drained out of me like tree sap- AND pal, you're gonna fucking pay for THAT! Explain to me some of these phrases- this isn't Showtime at your normal queer house of faces. We like to make some sense, without having to repent; even with you in awe, of my cum on your tits. Drip... drip... Looking back at the promotion on the screen. The tunnel is narrowing!? Are you inviting me on a date!? Rabbits don't need gas masks! THEY ARE LIKE YOU. MEANT TO DIE! Finger banging gesture, then one of a gun in the mouth. KILL YOURSELF! DOOOO IT! He turns another page to the "Electric Executions". Suddenly things take a turn for the darker. Almost as if Chaos has become his own marker. Run into a running drill. Jump off an amusement ride for a thrill! Capsize your boat in the sea. Choke on a dill pickle for me. Just hold your nose and mouth shut. Forget when I start to strut. Lay down on some hot tar, shh, it doesn't care who you are! Trust me, I would not really lie, but I really would hot poke your eyes. You could concave a roof on your family, or throw some rocks at a Crue of Motley. Jump over the moon, just make sure you don't land in my room! Save a whale with mouth to mouth. Say you love cock down south. Leave a bee in your hands, just to see if it stings away your glam. Threaten to kneel during an anthem; then call the Christian Reich and go at them! You can slip on a banana into a bear trap. Asphyxiate in the closet in a Jenny mask. Fuck someone who's deathly sick... maybe bleed out from that hangnail on your... dick!? AAHHHHHH!! WHAT IS THAT!? KILL YOURSELLLLLF. Here's a gun, now blow it! Have a solid GO AT IT! Electrocution is dynamite! Drowning is definitely still ALRIGHT! YOU CALLED SOMEONE ELSE SHALLOW!!!?? THIS ISN'T EAR PORN! I have a cure for you- in CAPSULE FORM! Onto a chapter entitled, "Toughies- When It's Time, Don't Overthink It". Take two and call me in the morning; take three, and I might mention you in future recordings. Take four, and I'll do even more for you; five, and the VIP treatment will be silver plated and less rude. Oh- and I'll look after Myst for you; hold her hand at the funeral and listen to her laughingly trash you. We'll start fucking, and maybe pop out a couple kiddies- taking all your pictures down so that maybe one day they'll feel pretty. And your stuff- we'll split the middle right down. When it's all burned to the fucking ground, I'll dump the ashes on top of your gravesite then cover it with starving maggot hounds. Kill yourself. I really mean this! Take the final hit! Laughing into the face of an ice pick! Don't think about it, just let nature occur; it was only a matter of time until you found out God hates Panda fur. One of those... what were the odds? Even on your best day, the band would pity play you off. He gestures like a trumpet player, then closes the book, wiping tears from his delicate cheeks. I can't do this. Not another day. Hornswoggle has made a bigger impact on wrestling today. Chaos is fiction in a work full of fact... driven to be what he can't, and refusing to give it back. Severance is coming, in a final paid due; just so I can smirk while I hand it to you. We can't let this go on at this rate, it will just get more depressing, then I'll suffer the same suicidal fate. You have to die in order for the world to be right; that and a guy paid me 10k to do it last night. Short on cash, I ignored it at first as an option- then I remembered all the times I could've put our partnership up for adoption. The man who made the offer was reckless for a solution; even if I dumped your body behind a Barbie house after the execution. I told him it would be emotional, and hit a sour note; he loaded the gun and said that you'd want a motorboat. It was almost like he ignored all that I said, but it made sense once he turned around with chaotic scowling dread. You don't have to pay me to kill you, because you're going to do it; oh, I'll still keep the money, don't worry I'll run you through it. No need to be stingy on the Warfare stage, I've been looking forward to a world without Chaos for more than a hundred days. Reverent and deep in his head are the problems, then out of the blue something distracts him, and suicide forgets it's condoms. NOT THIS TIME! Protection won't be an excuse; even Death is here to stop the inner abuse. An intervention by all of your closest friends, to save the rest of us, and to actually make sure that you end. Alas, the day wans on and my FIT IS GAINING STEAM! Potent enough to sabotage any hope of leftover Chaotic seeds. "Tragic," they'll write, about how they won't forget; the man who change their opinions with a version of IT! Only, I'm afraid these are harsher critics- who know why you're clowning around in XWF sewers to try to get some arm pit! Look AT ME! ARE YOU LOOKING!? KILL YOURSELF. KILL YOUR SELF. He opens back to Chapter One again. How many Chapter One's can a man handle!? I can't handle the loathing and self-righteous puns. The abuse of holy animals, or the molestation of helpful nuns. 12!? WHAT THE FUCK!? Your sin is spilling over, right into my lap; boring but hot, like a rash on Jenny's snatch. I'm tired, and lonely, but that's not the worst part... you won't kill yourself, and I have to fart. Backed up with anger... constipated with pain... the only thing that makes me sick now is hearing your stupid NAMMMME! You think a cigar will help you cope, or are you finally coming to terms with being out of hope? There a changed in the winds, and all they bring; a whisper of Chris gone and I pleasantly fade away. Thing is- it's so few and far between... because you keep gasping, while I'm talking! Concentration is hard when you have so much on your mind; oh yeah, look who I'm speaking to... you haven't have a rational thought since 89'. I can't even think about training for our bout, my head swirls around with visions of your brains blasted out. Can't we make a deal, or a compromise to agree; I'll cut off your head, and you can take your knees?! It'll be our last adventure; stuck together with blood, watching the teeth go down the drain from your dentures. Cut the CRAP! Stop the denial. You haven't been to the top of anything since your last Iconoclast dial. Bitches aren't harmless, you can't let their bullshit go; even though they keep coming back, and can't understand the word NO! Moistening my eyes and ears out with ignorant idealistic jokes; remember your negligence when you slit your own throat! Can I do it!? Do you accept volunteers? Are you the only one in the world of Chaos allowed to be feared? Not far from now you will open that mouth across from me. Dumb and scared, because you want to run from me. Gifted with gab and treasure undiscovered, I yield the sword that blows through your mother. Come at me bro, with more of your objects as a gag- I'll turn you around and pull the bunny ears out of your ass. Fuck your sensibilities, and all you explain, the game is the game, and your conqueror has the same name. Now light up a cig, or something to distract you, it will only take a second... then you'll fall back like a real Jew. Why all the hype, let's call you what you are; cheap on the tab, and always wearing a funny hat at the bar. Turned down is one thing, but that's all that happens... more like a catastrophe, like the career that almost happened. Chris Chaos is a figment of the imagination. His game is weak, and we are all done with this fascination. The frenetic aura of old times this match delivers is just that... old. Ancient. Like Doc D'Ville swinging his dick disillusioned out in the cold. Well- use all your strength and cup your lips; inhale softly and take comfort that death feels like this. TAKE A BIG BREATH! Throwing the vile book of suicide's in disgust. Last Gasps, no matter how many, cannot shield a fate that you deserve, plenty. Of all the things you try to pass by, my favorite autistic one is the feeling of... goodbye. A frantic silly sensationalized wave. The angle abruptly zooms out the window of the house as the curtain close behind. CHRIS- WAIT! JUST LEAVE BEHIND... A CHALK OUTLINE. Kill yourself.