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2024-10-29 19:42:56John was standing in the middle of the room on a wobbly stool, his bare feet feeling the cold metal. Above him, the ceiling fan buzzed, its steady whir that belied his urgency. The unravelling rope felt scratchy on his flesh as he gripped it. It was a dreadful necklace, fitting for the last scene of his own personal tragedy.
The treachery, the overwhelming debt, and the sensation of total worthlessness all weighed heavily on him and dulled his senses. This was the only way out, he reasoned in a dejected and empty way.
A hideous invitation, the noose dangled limp from the ceiling. John closed his eyes and imagined the looks on Sarah and Mark's faces as their treachery played back to him like a merciless movie reel. He saw them enjoying a happy life indefinitely, unaware of the destruction they had brought about. His motions were driven by a sudden and intense wrath, a last glimmer of defiance.
With a sense of finality that sent chills down his spine, he tightened the rope around the primary attachment of the fan. Even as he committed to the deed, there remained a persistent worry in the back of his mind that this wasn't the safest course of action. However, he believed it was sufficient to take away the agony.
John pulled the stool aside with a quivering palm, and for a few while, his body hung dangerously till the rope became tight. A gasp came out of his mouth, a choked scream cut short by the abrupt shock. He was prepared for excruciating torture, yet all he felt was a tight squeeze around his throat, depriving him of oxygen as his feet hung pointlessly only inches from the ground.
His numbness was overtaken by a primordial horror as panic tore at him. Black dots danced at the corners of his vision as it swam. His arms flailed ineffectually, a last-ditch effort to untie the grotesque knot that was strangling him.
A horrible crack followed by a dramatic tilt of the universe. The fan tore itself free from its moorings, unable to support his weight. John fell to the ground in a heap after being tangled in the rope. His lungs were robbed of air by the blow, and a sharp agony burst within his brain. Gasping for air, he lay spread out on the chilly wooden floor, his eyesight hazy.
The experience of almost dying had brought him back to earth. His intense desire to disappear was replaced by a sickening feeling and a pounding pain in his head. He winced and carefully touched the sensitive area where the shattered fan had struck him. A warm memory of his near death experience, blood flowed down his temple.
John lay there, stretched out on the ground, his breathing weak but steady, his mind not paying attention to the agony. His phone on the nightstand buzzed loudly until his pulse rate calmed and the room stopped spinning. The shrillness of the phone was a tiny inconvenience compared to the symphony of anguish playing in his brain, so at first he disregarded it.
But the buzzing continued, like a persistent bug that would not go away. John groaned and reached over to get it. The screen flickered with two unread alerts. The first was a phone call he didn't get from his buddy who had lent him a sympathetic ear the previous evening. An advertising with the message "Install this app and become a billionaire!" was the second notice.
John laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Earning a billion dollars? That was very, very funny. Despite his sick fascination, he clicked on the advertisement. He had an odd sensation of serenity while the programme downloaded. The desperation that had threatened to overwhelm him had subsided, maybe due to the physical fallout from his botched suicide attempt or the ridiculousness of the advertisement.
His thoughts went weirdly blank as he waited for the software to install. Upon completion of the d******d, the following message appeared: "Greetings from the Billionaire's Club! Are you prepared to make a life change?" John kept his finger positioned just over the "OK" button while he gazed at the message.
Was he prepared to make a life change? The issue sat there, pressing and weighty. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh it off and delete the app, but there was also a little bit that saw potential in the middle of the hopelessness.
Glancing around the room, he saw the broken fan, the rope that had been spilled, and the remains of his suicide plot. It served as a sobering reminder of his lowest point and the darkness he had almost given in to. But John spotted a ray of hope even among the debris.
John hit the "OK" button, his resolve strengthened by a trembling breath. It seemed like a little step in an enormous universe, and it felt unimportant. But as soon as the app launched, John had a level of resolve that he hadn't experienced in a while. This was neither a one-click fix for his issues or a guarantee of success. And he lost consciousness.
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The heavy knock on the mahogany door being pushed open by John reverberated through Mr. Harris' magnificent office. Massive mahogany desk laden with paperwork dominated the area, which was far larger than his own little cubicle. Behind it stood Mr. Harris, a man whose intimidating presence was only enhanced by his immaculately made suit; his steely blue star seemed to penetrate John.Mr. Harris bellowed, "Ah, Mr. Evans," with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Please enter. Kindly have a seat." The creak of the soft leather chair across from the desk startled John amid the tight atmosphere as he fell into it.Retiring in his chair, Mr. Harris made a move that made John shudder: he curled his fingers. "John," he said, his dramatic voice faltering, "we need to talk."John felt his heart pounding in his chest. The only thing he could manage to say was, "Of course, sir," in a quiet voice.With measured and careful remarks, Mr. Black added, "It's come to my attention that your performance
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