Creative Work: Untitled Work by Jennifer Gossoo

Creative WorksBack North again, this week’s piece was sent by Jennifer Gossoo from British Columbia, Canada. This piece is haunting and draws you through it with an excellent and mind-bending premise. 

I was going to do it. It was a Sunday. They would just have to miss me at work tomorrow, and for the foreseeable future. I had hoarded all of the pentobarbital that my doctor had been prescribing me as a sleep agent since February. I was now up to two bottles full. One was plenty, but I had never been one to take risks. Pentobarbital was kind of the go-to drug for ODing. I’d done my research. It didn’t have to be original; it just had to do the trick.

Somewhere in New York City, my parents were sequestered in their upscale Hampton-esque apartment. They wouldn’t think to call and check up on their youngest for at least another month. I was a big boy; I was, by societal dictation, adequately equipped to manage the daily struggles of menial employment and single life. Only I wasn’t.

I leave an open can of tuna on the fire escape for the homeless tabby which frequents my floor. He won’t even notice I’m gone.

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