Post by C H E Y E N N E on Aug 8, 2010 16:13:52 GMT -7
... Huh.
He didn’t want to go. Another lifetime in New York drinking wine, wearing tophats and wielding words with the potential to make or break another person was wearing him thin. And perhaps it would be another actual lifetime, but the clock dragged on slowly enough so that to him, it might as well have been.
It was times like this where he wondered whether or not he was an eighty-five-year-old stuck in this twenty-six-year-old man’s body, really; he was undeniably grateful that this was not the actual case. Growing old held no appeal to him; there was nothing worse than watching old men converse in their parlor, smoking enough to cause a healthy pair of lungs to wheeze and gasp for breath from just walking across aforementioned room.
Unless he was filthy rich by that time, and not just rich, he told himself he’d be jumping off a bridge. The press would follow him for weeks after that, he knew; his estates and legacy worth a fortune. It would make the New York Times’ (or something to that extent; he had never bothered to pay attention what it was actually called) headlines, he figured.
Richard John Kelsey, twenty-six, was found dead this morning after presumably jumping from the window of his countryside mansion…
The gentleman smirked, raising a cup of tea to his lips as he turned to stare out the window. Yes, what marvelous headlines… if only the thought of his body being found in a rather… disconcerting splatter didn’t make him cringe so. Of course, suicide wasn’t a glorified thing, no matter what certain novels pictured it as. In addition to that, suicide could be quite the scandal… Well, what if he got someone to push him?
Hmm…
He could always say he was pushed. Yes.
It was times like this where he wondered whether or not he was an eighty-five-year-old stuck in this twenty-six-year-old man’s body, really; he was undeniably grateful that this was not the actual case. Growing old held no appeal to him; there was nothing worse than watching old men converse in their parlor, smoking enough to cause a healthy pair of lungs to wheeze and gasp for breath from just walking across aforementioned room.
Unless he was filthy rich by that time, and not just rich, he told himself he’d be jumping off a bridge. The press would follow him for weeks after that, he knew; his estates and legacy worth a fortune. It would make the New York Times’ (or something to that extent; he had never bothered to pay attention what it was actually called) headlines, he figured.
Richard John Kelsey, twenty-six, was found dead this morning after presumably jumping from the window of his countryside mansion…
The gentleman smirked, raising a cup of tea to his lips as he turned to stare out the window. Yes, what marvelous headlines… if only the thought of his body being found in a rather… disconcerting splatter didn’t make him cringe so. Of course, suicide wasn’t a glorified thing, no matter what certain novels pictured it as. In addition to that, suicide could be quite the scandal… Well, what if he got someone to push him?
Hmm…
He could always say he was pushed. Yes.
*wrestles with laptop*