I wait, barely containing my excitement. I realize in amusement that I'm holding my breathe. I must be turning blue! I release the air slowly, watching the vapors of my exhalation rise in the dim light of the street lamp. Idly, wondering if my spirit would look the same to my loved ones as I die.
Cancer infests my body. The doctors attempted every treatment known to man and for whatever reason, I just couldn't go into remission. I had seven years of torture and only three months free. I can feel it now. The cells that turned Benedict Arnold are back with a vengeance, a bigger invading army, and this time, they are on the winning side. I decided, tonight, no more. I will live until I could live no more. I had 29 good years in, before my body betrayed me.
In the deep dark, recesses of my pocket, my gloved hands crumple the "Kick the Bucket" list I had made when first diagnosed. I originally had refused treatment then, but my family pleaded that my passive aggressive suicide was a sin and the ultimate selfish act. I didn't think so. I justified it with the idea that before there were doctors people died from cancer, so why couldn't I? But I caved and began treatments that made me wish I were dead.
The street lamp flickers, I can hear the buzz off the electrical poles. There's a faint smell of ozone in this cool spring night. I'm giddy with excitement. Something so simple, something that I had never allowed myself to do because of the Southern Baptist faith. God is watching you. God will reward your good behavior, your faith. Good ol' guilt factor. Pray to be healed child. . .sick again. . .well pray harder.
Checking my watch, it's time. I can see the people filing in. Bouncers clicking the numbers. The music starting, bass throbbing its promise of orgasmic pleasures. I swallow the bluish-white powder. Taking my place in line, and loving the anonymity. For tonight, I plan on ending it well.
I did! I look down, smiling at myself. Sprawled out on the smooth, cool dance floor. Memories of disco ball colors flashing, lighting up the glitter across so much bare skin. The close contact of grinding, bumping bodies, male and female arousing each other to desperation. My stranger that I allowed myself a quickie with in the bathroom stalls was leaning over me, screaming for help. I almost feel sorry for him, but I knew he'd get over it, after all, he didn't know me.
I feel a lessening of pressure. The silver cord connecting me to my body severs. I float gently untethered into the night, then vanish like the vapors of my exhalation, once beguiled by the night.