Tears stream down my face. Cries come from my mouth. I am going to die, but not soon. Not yet. ***It has been so long. I know not how long I have...hung. Each breath is a gasp as I struggle against the strain in my arms. Still the pain of the nails affords me no opportunity to relieve my suffering. The blood has dried, but if I move too much the flow begins again. Every part of my body screams in pain. Every part begs a stop to hanging in this position. As I get closer to death the. Still angry – now increasingly at yourself and your stupid impulsiveness that had sent you down the damn stairs (when the elevator was broken again) and out into the freezing cold while your key for the main door was upstairs on the key hook where you had just put it – you took a last look at the note and threw it into a random mailbox. It was one of the ones with a double name on it, it was below yours and to the right, and it wasn’t overflowing with junk mail, so you picked it.And then you. More

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