A Walk at 3 A.M.

*Trigger Warning: This short story discusses themes of depression, self-harm, and suicide.*

            I stare at the new knife as YouTube plays in the background. Thoughts race in my head as the noise is tuned out. I am not entirely certain what video is on, which is when it occurs to me that it might be time to change tactics. I pause the video and walk over to the front door, sliding on my tennis shoes.

You know your Mom hates it when you slide them on instead of untying and retying the knots.

I grab the essentials: the new knife, headphones, phone, and keys. Then I step out into the night and crisp air. I inhale a deep breath of fresh air before turning to lock the door.

What if someone robs you while you are out?

At 3 in the morning, the streets become your playground. Hardly a moving car can be seen passing by. The windows of the buildings towering over you are dark and ominous. The street lights are battered mercilessly by the wings of moths and gnats. Small creatures scurry the edges of alleys, emboldened by the shadows and the silence. The prospect of remains of food in the local dumpsters must not hurt either.

An ordinary person would enjoy the silence, but I do not. Instead, I maneuver the empty streets under the fog of music. Doesn’t matter what plays as long as it keeps the thoughts at bay and my body moving to its destination. Well, that’s not entirely true. There are songs in the randomized mix that could backfire, but the consequences are damned. I remove my glasses as the playlist begins.

After the obligatory ad, the first song is Pheonix, or rather an AMV created by Jasi Amvs, which is probably why I don’t know who the song's original artist is. As the music begins, my imagination travels to a Roman-style gazebo. A domed roof sits atop massive pillars over a mosaic sun on the floor. The skies outside are full of fire and smoke and a demon burst out of the ground in front of me. Oddly, I can never quite picture the exact details of the monster. It’s humanoid and has horns on its head, but that’s all I ever imagine.

As the song plays, the creature and I battle. In real life, I can’t fight. I dance, but some people have mocked me by saying that I just look like I am doing shitty kung-fu. After all, I can’t do the flips that the character in my head can. Nor can I do the magic or wield a sword. And since I am wearing headphones, no one can hear the music I am dancing to. I know how it can come across to others because more than one cop has stopped me at night. Some people say I look crazy, others say I look like an idiot. This is why this walk happens at 3 in the morning, not 3 in the afternoon.

As the song climaxes into its finale, I finally bring the roof down on the creature. I like to pretend it’s my demon. Don’t be an idiot. So much for that then.

I take a moment to catch my breath and look around. No one can be seen. But I can’t stop walking. Too much time in one spot invites trouble. At best, someone is nosey and looking for an easy target. At worst, the cops or some equivalent.

As the next song starts, I enter a parking lot. A street light shines in the middle at just the right angle that it feels like a stage. It fits well with the song that just came on. Uta’s Song from the movie Bubble.

My head fills with images of the characters in the movie doing parkour. I am alongside them, jumping across floating rocks and debris and bubbles with a ruined city in the background. The song makes me feel confident and calm at the same time. It’s a unique energy that no other song has given me before and I love it.

In real life, I can’t do parkour. But I try to get as close as I can. Running jumps up the side of walls mixed with my dancing. I love the feeling of my shoes sliding across the pavement as I land certain moves. I feel it adds to the power of the move in my head. The song ends on a high note and so do I, striking a pose as the song comes to an end.

You look like an idiot. The professionals do it better on television, so stop trying to show off.

Oh yeah, the song is over. Humiliation takes over. The windows are still dark and no one is awake. But I have the irrational fear that someone saw me and is already racing to Facebook or Twitter to spread the news of the dancing moron in the street. I move on quickly from the parking lot before anyone can see my face. I need to reach my destination before someone can stop me and ask me stupid questions.

The next song is a nightcore version of Let It Burn. Now the music is getting darker. Now my demon is getting louder. So are the painful memories. I summon a hoard of all my worst memories and rewrite them if I had the power to create and control fire. The memory of the boy who nearly choked me out. The memory of the girl who destroyed my family with a false accusation. The memory of the woman who tried to get me dishonorably discharged because I wouldn’t make her look good for her evaluations. The man falsely accused me because I told him I thought I might be gay. All of them burn in a fiery tornado as I drop to my knees and grab my head, screaming.

I don’t scream in real life, but I have dropped to my knees and I am holding my head. Tears fill my eyes as the pavement digs into my knees. My heart is racing from more than just the dancing. Heat slowly builds around the chest under my shirt. For a second, I wonder if I can summon fire.

You big baby. No one cares about those old memories. Why don’t you grow up and move on? If you forget it all and move on, you would be much happier. And no, you dimwit, you can’t summon fire, so stop trying!

I get up and keep moving. I am not far from my destination now. The coast is only a couple of blocks away. I would say maybe one more song. And of course, the song taps deeper and makes me think more.

Spencer Crandall’s K[no]w Better could’ve been something I wrote if I took the time to figure out poetry and songwriting. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be.

Only because you haven’t tried hard enough.

Songs like this don’t have a fast enough beat to get my body moving along, but they are on the playlist because I relate to them. So instead of dancing, I sing along. Of course, the artist sings the song better than I do. I miss every third verse and my deep voice sounds like garbage. I know it does because I have recorded myself singing and played it back to myself. Even got brave enough to upload a couple of songs to TikTok. I am not popular enough to get a lot of commentary on them though.

That would be because you aren’t consistent or talented. No one is interested in a no-talent hack who doesn’t try.

I am sure my voice is loud and that everyone in the buildings I pass by is being woken up by it. If I stay moving, then maybe they won’t get mad at me. Maybe they will just call me names and go back to sleep. So I stay mobile, though walking and singing at the same time makes breathing hard, so my singing gradually gets worse as I have to stop to catch my breath. I am almost grateful when the song is over.

I have reached the coast. My demon is right on me as I pause my music and pull my headphones out. I walk to the end of the dock and stare out into the abyss. It’s a cloudy night because of course it is. The moon and stars are hidden by black masses that reflect the lights of the city below. This gives them an ominous glow that reminds me of those post-apocalyptic hellscapes movies like to use. It’s not a bad thing to look at, but it is not as interesting as a clear night sky.

The ocean is massive and black. I don’t have Thalassaphobia, but nights like these remind me why people do. I am simply waiting for the waves or whatever is underneath them to reach up and pull me under. My dad once told my bible group that if you ever wanted a real test of faith, walk out into the ocean at night and see how far you get. We were high schoolers and kids at the time, with no ideas about the real world and its problems. I wonder how many of us would survive that challenge after growing up with some of the stuff we have seen. Or maybe I am just wondering if I would survive.

You would. You are too much of a coward to let the ocean kill you. You want your death to be painless and drowning takes too long. I am sure the water is too cold for you and you are worried about your clothes getting soaked. And don’t even get me started on the phone. How about the pocket knife instead? Maybe tonight you will be brave enough for a painless death.

I always carry a pocket knife on me. It’s my only real defense since I walk everywhere. A gun would be too troublesome and the cops are unreliable at best when it comes to situations where I would need their help.

I pull out the new knife I received earlier today and look at it. My name is carved into one side alongside a logo for South Padre Island. My parents were being nice when they got it, wanting to get me a souvenir from the trip they went on with my brother and sister.

A trip we weren’t invited to.

I am in college.

In the town where they live. Where they pick you up every Sunday to go to church with them.

I am sure they had a reason.

That they couldn’t share with you.

Don’t.

You know they don’t love you either.

They have done a lot for me. Dad helps pay for rent when I can’t cover it. They help me with groceries and furniture and dishes. They do all kinds of things for me.

Yeah, they are very caring people, when it suits them. He helps with rent so you don’t move back home and cause him real trouble. He doesn't care about you outside of that.

Just stop, please.

Not until you quit lying to yourself and end this fucking game you’re playing.

I pull out the blade of the knife and stare at it. It has a serrated edge to it. So much for painless. I press it against my skin until it hurts. If I break the skin, then I will have to explain the scar. If I just get it over with, then I won’t have to worry about the consequences. There is no middle ground. I either do this or I don’t. I can’t afford to have people be nosey. I can’t have them judge how truly pathetic I am.

Yeah heaven, forbid they see that you are letting this life get to you. You haven’t seen combat, your parents aren’t abusive, and you aren’t homeless. You’re just a wimp who can’t handle the awesome life that God gave you. He shielded you from all the real problems in life, and yet you keep sitting here like an ungrateful little brat, begging for more. You are so pathetic.

I push the blade a little harder and then stop. They don’t deserve this. I fold up the blade and stare at it once more.

Coward.

The conflicting memories and arguments begin to boil in my head, slowly overwhelming all of my senses. I tighten my grip on the knife as my entire body tenses up. Rage and self-hate begin to block out all rational thought as my eyes close.

A guttural scream tears through my throat. It is full of rage. It sounds like a creature more than a human. But the pain makes me very aware that I am the one making the sound. The sounds block out all thoughts in my head. My fingernails dig into my skin so hard that it starts to bleed. I can feel the tightening hands trying to crush the knife in my hand. I hurl it into the dark abyss in front of me, the soft plop of it hitting the water overpowered by my voice. Finally, the scream ceases, lost to the sound of the ocean waves.

I am not sure when I started crying this time, but my face is wet and burning. I take a couple of steadying breaths as my body slowly returns to normal. My body is exhausted and my brain is fried. It is time to go home.

If this were a movie, I could stay here all night, with a jump cut showing the audience the sun rising. But the night air is cold. I am too impatient to stare at the ocean all night and I know I cannot resist the abyss forever. Besides, if I was scared of someone seeing me on the journey here, I am terrified now. Someone has heard that scream and is coming to investigate. This is not a movie, which means I have no plot armor to protect me from the trouble that other people can cause. I get up and begin to walk briskly back.

Soon the headphones are back in place. Soon the next song is playing. Reliance [Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood AMV]. I guess it’s pretty thematic for what just happened.

My throat hurts.

No shit.