By: Roopa Menon

The First Way

Wear your best clothes. Statistics reveal that people who wear their favorite attire just before killing themselves suffer less. If you are not a sucker for statistics, don’t bother. Choosing where you commit the act is important. It must have some significance; a bathtub filled with water symbolizes a womb — to return to the way you came into the world. It could be ironic too. The newspapers could have a field day with metaphors. Fill your bathtub with enough water to keep your head above water. The temperature of the water must be tepid to cold, enough to make you want to get it over with and not tempt you to fall asleep pretending it’s just another relaxing bath. Now the tool. A sharp knife would do. Not too sharp nor too blunt. Enough to slice your hand without bringing memories of the slaughterhouse. Precision is key. Mark the stretch where you can do the maximum damage. Once confident, lie in the water and stretch your palms till the sapphire-colored veins are juicy and plump, and then slice the marked hand until red ribbons form around her wrist, before spooling into the water. And thus, the first way—Death by cutting your wrists—is served. 

The Second Way

Now that you have chosen the kitchen as your execution chamber, it is time to get started. Wear comfortable clothes or not, and scope out the oven before you begin. Gas ovens work best. Pay attention to the location of your oven for proper preparation. If the oven is in the center of the kitchen, it will require different arrangements than in the corner. Weather brewing outside can also affect the overall act; a sunny day with chirruping birds and blooming flowers can be distracting. And a rainy day with the pitter-patter of raindrops can draw you away. Be focused and shut out all the distractions, including Sylvia Plath puns and memes; once your mind is as clear as cellophane, you can proceed. Keep a plump pillow with a pillowcase inside the oven and open the jets of your oven. Then kneel in front of the open oven door, rest your head on the plump pillow, draw the curtains of fumes, and take a nap. Rest easy, the second way — Death by gassing yourself — is ready. 

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Roopa lives in Dubai, U.A.E. but was raised in Kochi, India where swatting mosquitoes at dusk is considered a life skill, to be honed and perfected. When not writing, you will find her buried in her kindle, staring into space, or reading tarot cards (not necessarily in that order). Some of her short stories have been published in Corium magazine, Nunum, Bright Flash Literary Review, Tiny Molecules, and elsewhere, and have been nominated for Best of the Net and Best of Microfiction. Fitzroy Books has just published her debut middle-grade fiction, Chandu and the Super Set of Parents.