What does it mean, to kill yourself?

Over the years, many people have asked this question. What is it that drives the human mind to suicide?

Is it a simple mental disease, that removes the persons' survival instincts? No, many mentally sound persons have chosen to take their own life.

Is it guilt, over crimes done? Certainly, in some cases, the criminal in question retains their morality, and decides to atone with their own life.

Is it cowardice, driving the fearful to seek an escape? Indeed, there is a story that illustrates an example of such a case very well.

Two magic casters were locked in a duel, but because their strength was comparable, the two agreed to settle the fight with a battle of wits. And so, it was decided that the first would create a maze of lines upon the ground, and the second would attempt to escape. If the second successfuly got out of the maze, the first would die. If the second failed to get out, he would die. The maze was drawn, the magic set, the devil oath taken, and the game began. For weeks, the second attempted to find the way out, but so extensive was the maze that he never found his way out. Finally, he declared that he had won, and killed himself. As the oath judged that the second had successfuly escaped the maze, the first died as well. And so, both perished.

Of course, suicide isn't the moral taught by the teachers who use that story, but it works.

And a final question, is suicide a bad thing?

I'm not one to tell someone else if they should live or die. The good die young and the evil never grow old. Death is a choice humans must make for themselves. The funniest thing I've found when hearing others discuss suicide is this: The speakers always put forth the case of suicide as a question and an answer, but they use the wrong question, and a biased answer.

They would have you believe the question is, 'should you,' and the answer is, 'no.' But that is ignorant.

When you hold a knife against your neck and feel the pulse of your vein push the blade deeper, yet your heart quickens not at all, the question stops being, 'should I,' and instead becomes, 'when?'

When you lie in the dark and stare into the nothing just waiting, when a person has confronted their own mortality, and found it to not be of worth, when breathing becomes harder than not, when they look in a mirror and see a ghost looking back at them, the answer becomes, 'now.'

So, we return to the question. Is suicide a bad thing? Well, allow me to thrust my opinion deep into your empty head.

Suicide is like masturbation. As long as you do it in private, and keep it to yourself, I don't care what you do. It's the people who do it in public that are the problem, as those attention-seeking bastards completely ruin unrelated peoples' days. It's stupid that some people get off on that, though in the case of masturbation, I guess that is the point...

Then again, perhaps trying not to bother other people is what drove them to suicide in the first place. At least they have the sense to not ruin my day with their emotional instability.

Sadly, in the case of a king, who's life is always in the eye of the public, offing myself and masturbation are both difficult. Perhaps the obstructions with accomplishing the one led me to seek the other. A little like love and pain, eh? Though I'll dive into that topic later. Just a preview, but people who are in pain want love, and people with love are bound to recive pain. Whoops, shoulda added a spoiler tag, oh well...not like anyone is going to listen to a crazy potato on the internet, right? Oh, fuck me. Of course they will, dammit. You see why I want to jerk off?! Er, I mean, jump off...a building.

Shit.

Fap jokes aside, I was having trouble escaping the castle.

The second floor was out, no inspection necessary. Biji would have guards at every staircase leading to anywhere more than a foot off the ground. But besides that, the fireplaces, armories, wine cellars, kitchens, and any other place that had sharp objects or alcohol were patroled regularly. The pantry was the only place not heavily guarded, and as such, I raided that place like a village of hapless peasants. Besides, Biji was underestimating me if she thought simply stopping my passage intot the cellars was going to stop me from getting intoxicated.

To be honest, I was quite impressed with castle security. Even while the Guard-Captain was stuck in bed with an illness, a situation in which most employees would jump at to mess around and goof off, the guards were more alert and exacting in their duty than before.

I had no way of knowing, but up until a half-hour ago, that was exactly what was happening. But news of the Guard-Captain flying through the hallways, clearly not bedridden, rumors that this was a way of checking up on the guards to see who should be promoted and laid off had spread throughout the castle. The rumors were started by Biji, of course. Even on leave, she was still working. No wonder the dumb dog is sick.

I felt a little prideful while sneaking around. As an assassin, I would've had no chance whatsoever of getting past the first few rooms undetected. Still, I'm the king, for all intents and purposes however much my pride is stepped on. As much as Biji threatens to lock me in my room and refuse to give me supper, she'll never do it. Outside of her, the Vice-Captain, and select members of the royal guard, my suicidal tendencies were kept a total secret.

Which, of course, is why I'm getting away from those people. Much easier to get killed around people who think you want to live. Wiping away crumbs from bread I'd filtched from the pantry, and a few drops of whiskey from the flask I'd bribed one of the maids to fetch from the cellar, I straightened my red coat edged with gold thread and adorned with silver buttons, patted down my sharp black trousers, and stepped forward firmly in my comfortable, durable, and above all, stylish, shined black boots.

The days when monarchs adorned their heads with ridiculous icesculpture-like formations of gold and jewels had passed, but that does not mean they could dress up in rags. These days, the fashion for kings was flowing robes or ruffles and lace. I, who wore a simple military uniform everyday, could be said to trod upon this trend. To those that say that, I reply in the same why I speak to the guards who stopped me at the door.

"I'm the bloody fucking king, you think I give a shit about your opinion? I set the trend."

The guards were, of course, confused at the last line, but whatever. Heading towards the training grounds, as they have the largest selection of sharp and blunt objects designed to kill people, second only to wine shops, I whistled a bright tune. I could not tell you what tune it was, but it sure was bright. Like my smile.

"As the saying goes, "live every day as if it were your last."

I intend to put the saying into literal practice.