The Last Time We Said Excuse Me

I took two weeks off of work and told everyone I was going to Mexico with my parents. The truth was that I was going to sit in my apartment, stream baking shows, and cry. The helpline I texted said I sound safe since I don’t have a plan.

But I didn’t feel safe. I felt trapped in an endless cycle of anxiety and floods of tears. I could barely get out of bed anymore and the idea of living didn’t seem like the right choice. I texted the Suicide Helpline again, hoping this time I’d have a different person to talk to.

Instead of the customary beeps of a phone line, however, I heard static interrupted by confusing screams and shouts against anarchy or something. I kept shaking it until I heard a shaking voice of a little girl who sobbed as she said-"Hello? C-can you help me? Please anyone. I-"

I froze as I saw the little girl as her eyes went dim and crimson was I hallucinating?, was it real, I started to

powerfully flatulate uncontrollably. "This wasn't the two weeks off I was hoping for!" I exclaimed to nobody in particular, in an even shakier voice - not due to fear but because of the huge vibrations emanating from my trousers. This was all down to that useless suicide helpline

without which I would now have clean underwear. More pressing was the stability of the furniture. The sheer ferocity of the fart has loosened a vital screw in the chair, which collapsed beneath me. Lying in the debris i reflected on the fragility of life and flat pack furniture.