It was the same day, just a different date. Gideon walked into his apartment and collapsed onto the couch.
He sat in silence. Only his own breathing reached his ears—the only reminder he was alive. Something he had long since forgotten.
He stayed like this for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and sent the same message to a handful of old high school friends:
"Are you there?"
An hour passed. He downed can after can of soda until he drifted into a shallow sleep. When he woke a couple hours later, he grabbed his phone again.
Every message was marked as read. None were answered.
With tomorrow looming—another day of work, another cycle of work, home, sleep, repeat—he finally decided to do something he had been holding back for years. Hoping, somehow, that things might change.
He walked to his bedroom closet. Hanging from the rack was a noose.
"There's no other choice."
And with that, he bid the world goodbye.