The Suicide Society

The Suicide Society

"One. Two. Three. Pull."

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

None of the revolvers went off this time. Neither Frank’s, Jeff’s, Kiev’s, Paula’s nor Jen’s.

"Meeting adjourned. I'll see you all next month then." Frank sighed. His face gave away that he was either jealous or disappointed.

Last meeting, there was only one report. Margaret ended her life with a smile on her face right there at the very table they all sat around. Nobody truly cared about the money up for grabs, they only wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. They were all drawn to the beauty of it all, that final moment when everything ended in a flash of heat and white.

Her body had been taken care of, but as per the rules, the aftermath still lie on the floor, a stinking spray of blood and bone and brain.

Once a month, they would meet and as the games continued, there would be more and more gore in the Proving Room until only one remained. The rules were they would all put in an undisclosed sum of money and the final member would get to keep it all. The only condition was that they must find a new secure place and recruit more members for the game. It was more "honor code" than real “rules”, but they trusted each other. They had no reason not to. They all played fairly.

This was the way of The Suicide Society.

They all kept in touch regularly. When one would want to “play the game” alone, they would talk each other out of it. The game was to be played properly.

Every player had a reason they wanted to play. They all had troubles and obsessions in their lives that they felt they couldn't handle. When the medicines and psychiatric help did nothing, they all found their way to the Society one way or another.

Paula was introduced to the club through the wonders of the internet. While perusing through various macabre chat rooms based around horror and murder and suicide, she’d met up with a random user. They became friends, regularly talking about how life sucked and joking about how they should set up a murder-suicide pact just to show them all.

Paula had always been the depraved sort who got a rush from cutting herself, letting the blood run until she became light headed. She’d done it since she was a young teen. She’d even been hospitalized for it several times when friends or family walked in on her unconscious and bleeding on the floor. Her near-death experiences became an obsession. A sexual obsession. “La petit mort” was to her the meaning of life and coming so close to death made it all that much more pleasurable. After every game she would be a little wet, her face flush. Every round got her closer. She masturbated the day Margaret died. She couldn't wait for her turn. She wondered if the moment the bullet passed through her skull she would have her final and most beautiful orgasm; her moment of infinite joy and pleasure.

Her online friend who brought the game to her attention, Kiev403, had a much more grounded view of the subject. He’d always wanted to die. The problem was, he was too chicken shit to do it himself. When he found Paula online, he’d found a friend he felt could help push him to finally end it proper. He’d made attempts, though half-assed. He’d swallowed pills. He’d slit his wrists several times, but never deep enough to result in anything but a small puddle of blood, a night full of sobbing and a morning full of mopping. He hoped and prayed that Paula’s love of death and dying would help him find the strength to end his own suffering.

He told her the very day he found out about The Suicide Society. He told her he’d overheard a couple girls talking about it. It was only a town or two over and it was a small gathering, but it was real. It existed. It took them a few weeks to sniff it out, but when they did, the last game had just ended and they were allowed to join rather easily. The two girls no longer played. They had lost. At the time, there was only Frank. And Frank welcomed them with open arms.

Jen had been a drug user for decades. She’d been through rehab enough times to have a room reserved for her at the facility. She’d tried many drugs: crack, pcp, copious amounts of alcohol, but her drug of choice was heroin. She was barely functional when she first began the “game”. Jen joined because she believed there was no other way for her to get off the junk. She had nothing to offer the world and her using was hurting as much as it made her feel good. She hated it. She hated herself. The game was the only thing that kept her sober. If she was going to end it, she wanted to feel what she could, not be fucked up when the barrel lit up.

Jeff was an exception to the group. He may not have cared about the pot or had any real troubles in his life. He was ex-military and only wanted to prove he was tough, not afraid of shit. He hated Kiev and Paula’s perverse obsessions with the concept of death. He hated Jen as well, simply because she was a drug addict. He found all of the members of the group weak. Jeff was the only one who didn’t jump or flinch when Margaret died. Margaret. He actually didn’t hate her. She had lived a genuinely hard life. Jeff had, for a time, gotten somewhat close to her. Learned her story more than the rest of them.

She was a simple housewife for a time until she lost her family. Her husband cheated on her repeatedly and when she finally had the balls to try to turn the tables on him, he’d already hired a private investigator to keep tabs on her. She was caught in the act. He had pictures and plenty of them. Pictures of her driving into an apartment complex at night. Pictures of her kissing her man on the side. Pictures of his penis in her mouth. She was caught dead to rights.

Normally, Jeff would have detested such actions, but he had something of an understanding. While he was shipped off, his wife cheated on him as well. The only difference was they didn’t have children, luckily. He’d found out after he got out of the service. She called him a chicken shit, a coward. The irony was he’d spent the last six years fighting for his country, most of that time overseas. She’d spent that time hiding out and shacking up with another man almost as soon as he’d left.

He wanted to file for divorce, but she, being the coward she was, didn’t want to give up the income, the stability. So he did the next best thing and shot the both of them mid-coitous. He’d lucked out and followed them to an empty park. He made it look like a simple mugging gone awry. The cops never found out. The killing gave him a rush, much like when he was overseas, but it just didn’t feel the same. He didn’t have much of anything to worry about, even when the cops came banging on his door. He was quickly acquitted due to lack of evidence.

After that, he needed to keep the rush going, so he started hanging around dangerous areas at night. Ganglands, seedy night clubs, etc. Places your average person would not be caught after dark. Jeff learned about the game after a particularly gruesome bar fight. A well-dressed, but unshaven man approached him as he huffed and puffed, catching his breath after beating a man nearly to death with only his fists. At first, Jeff thought this man was questioning his actions, but soon learned he was giving him the ultimate test. He was giving him a chance to prove his lack of fear. He thanked Frank and they met up at the next gathering.

Finally, Frank. Frank was always cool and level-headed at these meetings. When Jeff would lambaste Kiev for sobbing before playing, he would calm him. When Paula got out of hand with her sexuality after each game, he would talk her down, though a few times after everyone had left, he’d fucked her right there on the table. He was the mastermind behind the last few rounds of games. There was always a look of seriousness in his eyes. A look that said I want to win. In a way, he did tend to win. He’d gotten the money before and threw some back into the pot for the next round of players. But like everyone else, he was there for a reason. Nobody quite knew his story, though.

Frank always gave the others time to let out their aggression and stress before the games began. He knew a shaking hand led to misfiring, which they wanted to avoid. At one time, a player, similar in spirit to Kiev, accidentally shot another when his gun went off. It was all they could do to not turn their guns on him and open fire themselves. Frank remembered it perfectly. It was his first round of the game.

As another month passed, things played out as per the norm. Kiev and Paula spent most of their time together. Kiev smoked pot to calm himself as he watched Paula cut. They would occasionally have sex or watch each other masturbate.

Jen did well to fight her urges to get high. She sat at home most days spinning the cylinder of her .38 Special. Watching the chambers pass like cels in a film reel. Sometimes she debated the relevancy of the group. Wondered if it was even worth it to wait. But she understood it wasn't just about her. Not anymore.

Jeff needed an outlet for his anger. He still frequented the bars. He still fought.

Nobody knew what Frank did with his time. They only knew he would contact them when it was time and they had to make sure they were ready, self-destructive habits or not.

When the next round of the game began, they each arrived shortly after the other. Jen was the first through the doors of the “Proving Room”. Frank, as usual, sat at the head of the table, his own .38 special sat in front of him. The lamp hanging overhead gave him an eerie look. He wore, as always, a nice, dark blue three piece suit. His short, but tousled brown hair shined in the light, but his face was darkened, shadowed. When he looked up at her, she was able to see more of his face, though his eyes and sharp features were still shadowed. “Glad you could make it,” was all he said. She pulled up a seat and drew her revolver from her pocket and sat it in front of her and waited patiently for the rest to show.

Jeff showed next. As always, he slammed the door upon entry. He looked rough. His days of fighting and hating seemed to be catching up with him, but there was no sign of slowing down. His firearm wasn't just a simple .38 Special like the rest. He carried a .44 Remington Magnum. He was a fan of Inspector Callahan.

Kiev and Paula showed last and loudest. Paula cackled her way up to and through the door as they entered. Kiev stank of marijuana smoke, red-eyed. Jen sneered at the sight of them. Every time she saw them, she liked them less and less. Not that it mattered. Everything would be done soon.

After a few moments of letting the giggling to die down, Frank finally spoke up, “So. We all made it back. That’s wonderful.” They all looked his way. Kiev seemed to barely be able to turn his head. His eyes were almost closed, he was so high. Paula still snickered. Jen suspected she was high as well. Or drunk.

“Do we really gotta listen to these dumb fucks over here?” Jeff slammed his palms on the table and shot up out of his seat. He was already becoming infuriated with their antics.

Frank calmly, but sternly responded, “Let them have their jollies. We’re not here to spite each other, we’re here to play the game. Besides, what’s more important: shutting them up or getting through this?”

Jeff bit his lip and slowly sat back down, “I’d just rather enjoy some peace of mind beforehand. Just in case, ya know?”

“Agreed,” Jen chimed in, looking back at Paula and Kiev, “I do my best to stay clean for this shit and these lowlifes come barging in reminding me of the past that brought me here in the first place. It just doesn’t seem fair.” She turned to Frank. His face was still shaded by the light. He hadn’t moved an inch since she got there. It freaked her out a little, “But I guess the quicker we finish this, the better.”

Finally, Frank’s face changed. He smiled. A toothy grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Even Paula became quiet at this point. Something about Frank just seemed to freak them all out. Maybe it was his experience with the game or perhaps it was just something else. Something more sinister.

Without another word, Frank produced a small satchel from beneath the table. Nobody had noticed it when they entered. It was dark underneath and they were more interested with their own affairs. He tossed it on the table. “Paula. Kiev.”

Paula grabbed the satchel and dumped the contents out in front of herself and her friend. two more .38 Specials and a handful of rounds. Whatever had put the giggles in her before, at that moment, was whisked away in that one motion. “Each of you take one.” They silently obeyed. Kiev didn't seem quite as stoned as before, but it was still obvious he wasn't sober.

Frank reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a single bullet. “Everybody take one from the table. Jeff, I’m assuming you brought your own, correct?”

Jeff nodded. He then reached at the back of his trousers and pulled out his ever over-compensating .44 Remington Magnum. He popped open the cylinder and pushed the ejector rod. 6 sizable rounds fell onto the table in front of him. He laid the revolver on the table next to them.

“Good. I see we’re all ready to play, correct?” They all nodded solemnly. Even Kiev was at full attention. His eyes were still blood-shot. He still stunk. “Today we’re going to play a little bit differently. Today we are taking partners.” A confused, slightly agitated look washed over the group, “I take it there are some questions?”

Visibly most annoyed, Jeff spoke up, “Yeah, like what the fuck are you talking about? There’s only five of us!” The rest of the group looked around at each other nervously and then back to Jeff then to Frank who was grinning still. Kiev began to shake.

“I understand that, Jeff, but I also understand that there is some serious animosity going on between some of you. I know you won’t disagree with that. What I am offering is a chance to quell some of that hatred and return things to a more...amicable atmosphere.”

Jen immediately glanced at Paula, whose eyes were still glued on Frank. “So then who will your partner be?” Paula spake. Frank’s head tilted slightly as he turned towards her. “You. And Jen.” The two looked at each other with anger and disdain and Jen was the first to speak up, “What the fuck?! Are we gonna have a Mexican stand-off or something?”

Frank chuckled under his breath a little, “Something like that.” He turned to Jeff, “Do you have a problem working with Kiev?” Jeff stared down his nose at the stoned, scared little man that cowered in his chair across the table from him. “Nah, I’d love to shoot that little bitch in the head with ol’ Callahan here,” he patted his gun.

“Kiev? Problem?” Kiev had begun to tear up, “Fuck yeah! Why do I get that meat head?? Why can’t I have Paula? I need Paula!” Jeff shook his head at him, “What a little bitch.”

Paula and Jen began to squabble about their “partnership” as well, each trying to argue over the other. “I don’t wanna work with this cunt!” “Fuck you!” “Fuck your mother!” It seemed as though things were going to come to blows had it not been for the single gunshot that startled everyone, shutting them all up at once. Frank had stood without anyone noticing and fired a shot into the ceiling.

“If we’re all done bickering, I’d like to get this over with. I would have thought we could be a more...adult about it, but seems I may have been wrong.” Jen and Paula looked down at their hands. Kiev wiped his eyes. Jeff still stared down his nose at Kiev. Frank sat back down. His grin returned. “Now, everyone load one round into your gun and spin.”

As the rest of the group loaded their one round, Frank unloaded his revolver. He tossed the spent shell onto the floor. The hollow brass tinkling resonated throughout the dimly lit room. He then set it back onto the table and then reached back into the other side of his sport coat. Paula and Jeff were the first to finish with their revolvers, so they patiently watched, expecting Frank to pull another round, only to watch him brandish another .38 revolver. He set it on the table and reached back into his inner pocket, pulling two rounds this time. He placed the bullets gently on the table, standing them on their primers. He then picked up his first gun and reloaded it with one of the bullets.

He put the round back into his .38 Special and spun the chamber, slamming it into place after a couple seconds. He did the same for his second gun. Both then laid nose-to-nose on the table. Kiev had just finished shakily loading his. “Now. Are we ready?” Frank looked around the table. The group was mostly steel-eyed. Kiev’s eyes were glossy and sad.

They were ready.

Frank as ready to get the proceedings moving forward. He instucted Kiev and Jeff to bring their chairs closer together. They would put a gun to each other’s head and wait.

He instructed Paula and Jen to stay where they were and point their firearms at his head. With a grin, he donned his two .38’s and trained them back at each woman. “I know this is a bit unconventional, but admit it, it’s thrillling, isn’t it?” Frank spat as each of the members shakily trained their guns.

“One.”

Kiev sniffled.

“Two.”

Jeff cracked his neck.

“Three.”

Paula giggled nervously.

“Pull.”

Three of the six guns exploded in unison. Jeff’s was the loudest. Blood, brain and hair sprayed around the room. Jeff, Kiev and Paula each fell to the floor at almost the exact same time. The expressions on their faces differed greatly.

Kiev held a sad, surprised look on what was left of his face. Jeff, though now dead, looked as angry as ever. Paula stiffened as she fell, as if she’d experienced the feeling she’d hoped for -- that final erotic release as she died.

As the bodies simultaneously slammed into the floor, Frank and Jen still had their respective guns pressed to each other’s head. Jen’s hand shook violently. Frank stayed trained on her, still calm. He lay the spent revolver on the table. “We’re the only ones left now. How do you feel?” He grinned.

“I--I…” Jen tried to reply, but the words clotted in her throat. Her once steel resolve had in that instant, flashed away with the report of the primer, the drop of the corpses. Suddenly, she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted anymore. Perhaps this wasn't the way she wanted to go. But she was in too deep now, there was no turning back.

Both she and Frank finally lowered their weapons at the same time.

“I know what you’re thinking…” he stared directly into her eyes, “I was there once, too.  I was scared and wasn't sure what to expect. Wasn't sure what I wanted. I was afraid this wasn't the way I wanted to die, like I was due for something different. Then something changed.”

Jen’s shakiness began to calm, “What was it?” Frank reached into his coat pocket and once again produced a single bullet. Holding the single round in the light, he began to twist it between his fingers, as if he were examining it, “I thought about all those who’d lost the game, or won, depending on how you look at it. I thought about all those who’d laid at my feet oozing with blood and gore. Jen, what changed was I was the last one. I was the sole survivor of that game and then it hit me: what if this really was it?  What if at this point, there wasn't anything else? Could you live with that if it were true?”

“That’s why you continue on?” Her voice was a combination of fear and intrigue with a touch of pity. “Yes,” Frank replied, “I do this because a part of me, a strong part of me, doesn't want to stop until it’s over. Do you understand?”

Jen nodded. She then slowly reached for a round from the table. Frank still seemed entranced by the bullet at his fingertips. “Are you ready for the final dance?”

Jen loaded the bullet into her revolver. “Yes.” Her eyes were focused on Frank. Her inner strength found its way to the surface once again. Frank loaded his round into his own revolver. His eyes met Jen’s. Almost as if rehearsed, they spun their respective chambers at the same moment and slowly brought their guns to each other’s head.

“One,” Frank spoke.

“Two.” A bead of sweat rolled down Jen’s temple to her chin.

“Three.” They both pulled the trigger.

Disclaimer: Suicide is not a joke and this story is not meant to glorify it in any way. If you or someone you know suffers from depression and has shown signs of suicidal tendencies, please have them call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline @ 1 800 273 8255