Space Oddity

Inspired by the song Space Oddity by David Bowie


1. One

The black tie was loose around his suffocating neck. The normally pristine suit jacket was discarded onto the other side of the bathroom, lying in a crumpled mess. His body was slumped against the side of the polished bath, trembling slightly. The usually neat brown hair on his head was scruffy and unkempt, with several patches starting to thin out.

The lock was bolted lightly on the wooden door, keeping out the interfering and intimidating outside world, and trapping him in his own tiled prison. He could hear voices from the rest of the world rushing past, but here he was alone, isolated.

A clenched hand clutched desperately  to the side of the bath, afraid that if he let go, he would fall into the fiery pits of hell. His face was red with the effort of keeping himself upright, rather than flat out on the floor, defeated.

He looked up at the sink. Balanced on the side of it was his escape route. A small, plastic tub which contained something which meant he would not have to hide from them anymore. He would beat them: he would be free.

Downstairs, his family sat, unsuspecting. They did not know, and they hoped they would never know the full extent of his problems. His mistakes should not have affected them, but, unfortunately, he had been unable to control it,

Money. A world dependent on it. He lived in a world where you could not go far without it, as he had cruelly found out. A family was expensive; debts rose without warning and he was suddenly trapped in a rapid whirlpool, sinking into the pits of despair.

He placed both of his sweaty hands on the side of the white bath and pushed upwards. he had nearly made it up, when  his hands slipped on the shiny surface and he fell, crashing to the floor, making his heart skip a beat. His head smashed into the hard edge of the bath and pain shot through his head like a bullet, and he lay, unmoving, on the floor, his head spinning.

Gathering his strength, he pulled himself up for another attempt. Wiping his hands on his black trousers, he pushed himself up, so that he was on his feat, standing on the cold, square tiles.

Trekking across the room, he snatched at the bottle of pills on the sink. It fell, clattering to the ground, scattering its contents across the room. Crumbling to the floor, his hands shots out, desperately, collecting up all the small pieces of hope.

Pausing for breath, he sat with his hand open, his blue eyes huge and starring, preparing himself.

He shoved all the pills into his waiting mouth and swallowed.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

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