This wasn’t the ideal way to go, but previous attempts at gulping down barbiturates and sticking my head in a hot oven were unsuccessful. So now I wade out into the river with nothing but a dream and some stones in my pockets. I was always bound to be this Ophelia reincarnate; an eternal poetic justice fit for any writer. The ultimate act of silence and insanity – sinking my head into the glassy murk. A moment of regret sinks in as fluid fills my lungs, but I am unable to make my way back to the surface. Fighting only makes it worse. I’m on fire under the water. My throat is burning, and I let out a scream that no one can hear but me. My greenish black body blends into the bank at first, but then they’ll see my bloated, pruny skin and bulging eyes. A greasy layer of adipocere coats my corpse and turns me into a wax mummy. I’m nothing more than soap on a bone.