His head spun rapidly, his entire body was limp as if all his weight had shifted into his hand and feet weighing him down. He felt helpless and the feeling made him sick, he stood there with a blank expression on his face devoid of any emotion. After all, what was the point? Everything he built up till this point was shattered right in front of his eyes; his life was now devoid of purpose. He looked at his doctor who had not even a sliver of sadness on his face, only pity for how the man lived his life. He had found out that he contracted an unknown illness, he was going to die soon and there was nothing he could do about it. At most he had around 2 weeks left to live.
He thought about all the actions he took in his lifetime, all the people he harmed for the sake of profit. His mind ran amok thinking of all the terrible things he had done. “Two weeks isn’t enough,” he muttered. He knew it, 2 weeks wasn’t enough to change his image, what people thought. “No one will miss me, what did I do this for” he thought before crying “what was the point”. The doctor, looking at him with even more pity, said in the most monotone voice, “ You know you are still being charged for the time you stay here”. The man walked out paying the fee before stepping in the most luxurious limousine and being driven to his penthouse. It was covered in finely polished Egyptian marble and beautifully finished Oak wood with a view of the city that could be hung in an art gallery. Yet his mind wasn’t fixed on that; instead he was finding people to blame: his friend, his colleagues, the mailman. “They are the reason the world hates me, it’s their fault I can’t die in peace. They probably spread rumours about me, they are the reason everyone despises me.”
As he fell further into an abyss of hatred and spite his gaze fell on a pistol he had bought recently. He thought about his mother who had died the same way, an unknown illness. He remembered how he had promised her a life of luxury and wealth before she died. But that didn’t matter anymore, he picked up the pistol and put it up to his head. All he felt was regret, “it isn’t fair, this isn’t just” he thought. He felt his finger slowly tighten around the trigger and then, he thought nothing. It was sweet, almost. Probably the best he had felt in a while. 3 months later his landlord found the corpse after trying to collect rent. He appeared in the headline of some news article for a day, “Another multimillionaire commits suicide” and the world moved on, without him.