He sat in the bath tub with a bag on his head and a hose at the ready. His hand on the nozzle calmly cured the angst of his life, leaving nothing but dread. Will my family understand? he wondered. Probably not, he concluded.
It had been a miserable life for him, as far as misery goes. He'd never had a good head on his shoulders, never got what others saw. He was confined to the simple life, and told he should be content with what he had. But he had nothing--and he knew it. Nothing worth anything, he thought.
Actually, I do have something, he corrected himself. I have plenty of regret, that's what I have. And anger; that too, he mused. He was right, in a way. Nothing had come easy to him; but somethings had come, nevertheless. These thoughts were useless now though, not enough reverse his pending actions. No miracle would save his soul, no soul could save his life.
It's done, it's decided, nothing can stop it now, echoed a voice much like his own, but somehow distinct.
The hiss of the hose hummed in his head. It'll all be over soon, it said. Slowly from then, he slipped silently to sleep. Descending down in to the deep.