Michi_Violeta
why couldn't it be me?
- Feb 3, 2025
- 515
It's no secret that SaSu is under constant scrutiny by authorities, media, and "activists" who think it's their mission to shut down this website either through their journalistic work and/or DDoS attacks. It's not a secret either that the holidays are a particularly hard season for depressed and suicidal people, that seeing other people being happy only makes us feel worse about our own lives.
Bearing these two things in mind I wrote this short story that I'm sharing with everyone here, doesn't matter if you're here because you're suicidal and a member of this community or because you're here lurking out of curiosity or a desire to shut us down. I wrote this yesterday to avoid having a panic attack when the Doomer Chat part of this site, where I've been spending quite a lot of time enjoying the company of people there, crashed only for the rest of the website to follow. I felt someone was trying to separate me from the only people who've listened to me these past few days and the virtual space I shared with them, perhaps the only truly safe space I have left. And that's when I thought about what would happen if this website effectively shut down.
This is a work of fiction that is not meant to persuade anyone into anything, my beliefs —just like this website—are absolutely pro-choice. If you want to live, that's amazing, I wish you a good recovery; if you want to die, that's not ideal, but I understand you perfectly. I'm not telling anyone what to do here, I'm not trying to coerce anyone into anything. I just wanted to share my appreciation for the people I've met here and to try and confront the people who are against this website using honesty and words.
Wishing you all peace during the holidays
"Merry Christmas to them!" Jules texted to a friend he met on a religious forum, someone who he thought really understood the importance of his chivalrous quest, "It's been down for 30 mins now, Maria, we just saved, like, thousands of lives rn!"
"U r a genius! It's a holiday miracle!" The woman halfway across the world replied, smiling sixteen hours behind, holding the rosary beads in her hand, "It's so sad this ppl dont want to go out and enjoy the holidays with their families and they prefer being behind a computer screen talking about death!"
Jules nodded, the screen in front of him dark as he confirmed again and again that the servers for that nefarious cyber-purgatory were down. It wasn't his first rodeo, he'd tried smaller attacks before, and he even had laughed at the participants of that ghoulish community when he saw them protest at the outages. Some of these people even said they'd commit suicide if they couldn't access what they claimed was their only safe haven left. But Jules knew better. He knew they were bluffing; María had told him those poor souls would eventually recover and live happy lives once they left that virtual space full of doom and gloom.
"Maria, I couldn't have done this without you!" He replied, his hands jittery with excitement as he finally gathered the courage to do the unthinkable, "I was thinking, maybe, we could do something to celebrate?"
María (with a tilde) took a while before typing her answer with a face of disgust Jules couldn't see thanks to the distance afforded by instant messaging, but he received a call before he could read the woman's reply. It was Tom.
"Jules, what the fuck?"
"You saw that right? SanctuarySuicide is finally down, and it'll stay that way until the new year!"
"You were the one who did that?" Tom replied with a grave voice rather than a celebratory one, much to Jules' surprise.
"Yeah, man, we talked about it before. I thought it'd be the perfect time, you know, with the number of suicides this time of year and stuff, all that pathetic people, alone and online, talking about drinking seawater until they die…"
"Just to be clear, Jules, I wasn't your accomplice, alright? Don't ever quote me on that" the Journalist said with evident worry "You haven't seen the posts trending right now all-over social media, have you?"
Jules fell quiet, he couldn't understand his friend and why he would deny their association after Tom had vocally condemned that dangerous website in his articles for an oh-so-reputable newspaper.
"I…don't get it. We saved lives, Tom…"
"Fuck it. Go check Z or KnocKnoc and delete our chat history. It's in your best interest too. Bye"
The call left Jules in a state of confusion that only worsened once he saw María's profile picture was no longer visible. All there was in the chat window was an ominous message:
"He who is free of sin cast the first stone (John 8:7) Adiós Julio." It was followed by a notice that he'd been blocked.
He rushed to the social media apps he usually avoided to try and make some sense of the situation, of why Tom wanted to erase all trace of their communications and why María had blocked him. There it was, in the list of trending topics, a series of posts under #suicidechristmas. Fourteen people from all around the world had taken their own lives in less than an hour during the most wonderful time of the year and most online chatter suggested that more would follow. Jules went for one of the most popular posts, his confusion now replaced by shock as he saw a collection of screenshots and clips narrated by a robotic voice.
It turns out that some users of SanctuarySuicide had gathered on a different platform after Jules carried out his completely well-meaning attack on the website's servers. One of them, a man from the Middle East in his late thirties, was the first to throw the towel. The intense and untreatable pain in his tendons had woken him up and he only found silence when he wanted to log in and complain to his online friends. He messaged a British young woman, grabbed the shotgun stashed under his bed, and pulled the trigger.
The woman, tender as the snow outside her window, had no one to talk about it in person so she texted one of her closest friends who just happened to be from that website too. She'd been sexually abused more times that she cared to count and her friend, another victim of grotesquely inhuman misconduct, pitched an idea out of sheer desperation. Five minutes later, one woman in Dunsfold and another in Pensacola were dead by poisoning. By then the snowball had turned into an avalanche from which there was no turning back.
Australia, Colombia, Egypt, India, Germany… reports surfaced across the globe. One clip showed a woman kicking a chair from under her feet and hanging herself from a wooden beam in her room, the picture cut short when her family walked in only to find out it was too late. A man simply posted the last message he sent to his ex-girlfriend, a brief and heartfelt goodbye that left no doubt about his love and her guilt. Another scene accidentally showed someone's quiet and awkward neighbor flying past a window after jumping from the rooftop. By the time Jules finished watching the video, another post announced that the death toll was now close to twenty: one of them a transexual woman who, broken by the suicides of the people she spent hours talking with every day, had successfully overdosed on the pills that were supposed to save her life.
It then dawned on Jules, slowly yet too obvious to deny. He got up from his chair and paced around his small apartment in panic before he finally decided to call María, hoping she hadn't blocked his phone number just yet, long-distance rates be damned. Air returned to his lungs when he heard the line ringing and a voice at the other end.
"¿Aló?"
"Maria, please don't hang up, please, I need to talk to someone, and you are…"
"¿Julio? Dios mío…" the woman sighed, her voice struggling to speak in another language with her breath so erratic. "They did it, they really did it…and we…"
"We didn't do anything, Maria, we… we meant good, I mean, we tried to save them and… it's like you said to me once, the forces of darkness didn't want them to recover. But we did!"
"Did we, Julio? Did we?" The woman broke down in tears before reciting a Hail Mary in Spanish.
"We…I think we did, yes! I mean, they needed help and… the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing!"
"I thought the same, Julio, and you know it. But… one of those girls, her mother was from my congregation. The woman texted me, she said… she said she felt guilty. She said she wanted to do it too…"
"But… I just don't get it, we did the right thing, that place was evil! All I wanted is for those people to find help, to pull themselves by their bootstraps and get help. You and I, Maria, we talked about how beautiful life is and I… I wanted you…"
"Julio… just don't. Please. I'm a married woman. This… this was a mistake. My husband is out talking with that girl's mom. And while she's there talking to her pastor I can't… I can't do this"
The line went dead. Jules frantically dialed María again, but all he could hear was a strangely familiar robotic voice saying he'd been blocked. And it was at that precise moment when reality collapsed on him like a perfectly cliché house of cards. He tried to reason with the creeping emotions, he tried to block them. He went to the fridge for a beer and his trembling hands struggled to open the bottle. In a fit of instant rage, he smashed the bottleneck on the kitchen countertop and cut the tip of the very same right index finger that had clicked the damned website to its demise.
Jules tried to call María again, but the response was again a robotic voice saying the woman had blocked him. He mistakenly tapped on the recent apps button and opened KnocKnoc again, a similar robotic voice: the death toll was rising at an alarming rate and the relatives of the people who had committed suicide were starting to post themselves.
Some were genuinely shocked to see their beloved over-achieving offspring had taken their own lives despite a lifetime of success. A middle-aged balding man blamed the woke virus for making their daughter trans and vowed to make America great again in her memory: it was the first time he used her daughter's preferred pronouns. A woman posted a heartfelt goodbye full of regret along with a picture of herself kissing a long-haired young man behind the wheel of a hot-rod. A university made a public statement offering their thoughts and prayers to the family and students of a well-known academic loved by everyone.
And it was then that Jules finally felt it, right as he smashed his phone against the wall and burst into tears against his will. That's when the reality of suicide became evident for someone who vehemently opposed it, a twisted logic that can only be understood by the one who feels it. And he wanted to talk with someone. He thought of calling a suicide hotline, just like he'd suggested others to do a dozen times before, but his phone was unresponsive. He knocked on the neighbor's door, but the Joneses were on vacation. He went out of the building, not realizing he was looking somewhat disheveled after spending so much time in front of his computer executing what he thought was a master plan.
The streets were empty, and he just stood there in the cold, motionless against the silence before it was interrupted by a lonely gunshot in the distance. Jules heard the wail of an ambulance a few minutes later and the sound was unbearable. It was as if suddenly he could hear the world shouting at him through a stethoscope. He started walking aimlessly —a couple of junkies on the street avoiding him with a side glance— and ended up by the train tracks. The horn of a speeding cargo train blasted in the Christmas air and its sound shattered Jules' sense of reality with a painful force he'd never known before.
He screamed and took a final clumsy and pathetic step —maybe the only dignified step he'd taken in his entire life— before a thousand tons of rolling steel turned his body into a scarlet mist while his heart wished someone had listened to him in the hour of his demise.
Bearing these two things in mind I wrote this short story that I'm sharing with everyone here, doesn't matter if you're here because you're suicidal and a member of this community or because you're here lurking out of curiosity or a desire to shut us down. I wrote this yesterday to avoid having a panic attack when the Doomer Chat part of this site, where I've been spending quite a lot of time enjoying the company of people there, crashed only for the rest of the website to follow. I felt someone was trying to separate me from the only people who've listened to me these past few days and the virtual space I shared with them, perhaps the only truly safe space I have left. And that's when I thought about what would happen if this website effectively shut down.
This is a work of fiction that is not meant to persuade anyone into anything, my beliefs —just like this website—are absolutely pro-choice. If you want to live, that's amazing, I wish you a good recovery; if you want to die, that's not ideal, but I understand you perfectly. I'm not telling anyone what to do here, I'm not trying to coerce anyone into anything. I just wanted to share my appreciation for the people I've met here and to try and confront the people who are against this website using honesty and words.
Wishing you all peace during the holidays
"An Unsanctioned Suicide"
The pale shimmer of a computer screen lit Jules' grin as he reveled in the success of the DDoS attack amidst a dark winter night. He'd done it. He'd saved thousands of innocent souls by successfully taking down a website that promoted suicide, a dangerous death cult that brainwashed people into thinking they'd finally found a place to openly discuss their misery and how to escape it. A truly awful corner of the internet, he thought, and his friends agreed. One of them, Tom, had written thoroughly researched articles about said online hell and he personally chose the pictures for an article about one of its victims. He even made sure to show her sexiest pictures purely to draw attention to the tragedy of a woman who was too pretty to die young.
"Merry Christmas to them!" Jules texted to a friend he met on a religious forum, someone who he thought really understood the importance of his chivalrous quest, "It's been down for 30 mins now, Maria, we just saved, like, thousands of lives rn!"
"U r a genius! It's a holiday miracle!" The woman halfway across the world replied, smiling sixteen hours behind, holding the rosary beads in her hand, "It's so sad this ppl dont want to go out and enjoy the holidays with their families and they prefer being behind a computer screen talking about death!"
Jules nodded, the screen in front of him dark as he confirmed again and again that the servers for that nefarious cyber-purgatory were down. It wasn't his first rodeo, he'd tried smaller attacks before, and he even had laughed at the participants of that ghoulish community when he saw them protest at the outages. Some of these people even said they'd commit suicide if they couldn't access what they claimed was their only safe haven left. But Jules knew better. He knew they were bluffing; María had told him those poor souls would eventually recover and live happy lives once they left that virtual space full of doom and gloom.
"Maria, I couldn't have done this without you!" He replied, his hands jittery with excitement as he finally gathered the courage to do the unthinkable, "I was thinking, maybe, we could do something to celebrate?"
María (with a tilde) took a while before typing her answer with a face of disgust Jules couldn't see thanks to the distance afforded by instant messaging, but he received a call before he could read the woman's reply. It was Tom.
"Jules, what the fuck?"
"You saw that right? SanctuarySuicide is finally down, and it'll stay that way until the new year!"
"You were the one who did that?" Tom replied with a grave voice rather than a celebratory one, much to Jules' surprise.
"Yeah, man, we talked about it before. I thought it'd be the perfect time, you know, with the number of suicides this time of year and stuff, all that pathetic people, alone and online, talking about drinking seawater until they die…"
"Just to be clear, Jules, I wasn't your accomplice, alright? Don't ever quote me on that" the Journalist said with evident worry "You haven't seen the posts trending right now all-over social media, have you?"
Jules fell quiet, he couldn't understand his friend and why he would deny their association after Tom had vocally condemned that dangerous website in his articles for an oh-so-reputable newspaper.
"I…don't get it. We saved lives, Tom…"
"Fuck it. Go check Z or KnocKnoc and delete our chat history. It's in your best interest too. Bye"
The call left Jules in a state of confusion that only worsened once he saw María's profile picture was no longer visible. All there was in the chat window was an ominous message:
"He who is free of sin cast the first stone (John 8:7) Adiós Julio." It was followed by a notice that he'd been blocked.
He rushed to the social media apps he usually avoided to try and make some sense of the situation, of why Tom wanted to erase all trace of their communications and why María had blocked him. There it was, in the list of trending topics, a series of posts under #suicidechristmas. Fourteen people from all around the world had taken their own lives in less than an hour during the most wonderful time of the year and most online chatter suggested that more would follow. Jules went for one of the most popular posts, his confusion now replaced by shock as he saw a collection of screenshots and clips narrated by a robotic voice.
It turns out that some users of SanctuarySuicide had gathered on a different platform after Jules carried out his completely well-meaning attack on the website's servers. One of them, a man from the Middle East in his late thirties, was the first to throw the towel. The intense and untreatable pain in his tendons had woken him up and he only found silence when he wanted to log in and complain to his online friends. He messaged a British young woman, grabbed the shotgun stashed under his bed, and pulled the trigger.
The woman, tender as the snow outside her window, had no one to talk about it in person so she texted one of her closest friends who just happened to be from that website too. She'd been sexually abused more times that she cared to count and her friend, another victim of grotesquely inhuman misconduct, pitched an idea out of sheer desperation. Five minutes later, one woman in Dunsfold and another in Pensacola were dead by poisoning. By then the snowball had turned into an avalanche from which there was no turning back.
Australia, Colombia, Egypt, India, Germany… reports surfaced across the globe. One clip showed a woman kicking a chair from under her feet and hanging herself from a wooden beam in her room, the picture cut short when her family walked in only to find out it was too late. A man simply posted the last message he sent to his ex-girlfriend, a brief and heartfelt goodbye that left no doubt about his love and her guilt. Another scene accidentally showed someone's quiet and awkward neighbor flying past a window after jumping from the rooftop. By the time Jules finished watching the video, another post announced that the death toll was now close to twenty: one of them a transexual woman who, broken by the suicides of the people she spent hours talking with every day, had successfully overdosed on the pills that were supposed to save her life.
It then dawned on Jules, slowly yet too obvious to deny. He got up from his chair and paced around his small apartment in panic before he finally decided to call María, hoping she hadn't blocked his phone number just yet, long-distance rates be damned. Air returned to his lungs when he heard the line ringing and a voice at the other end.
"¿Aló?"
"Maria, please don't hang up, please, I need to talk to someone, and you are…"
"¿Julio? Dios mío…" the woman sighed, her voice struggling to speak in another language with her breath so erratic. "They did it, they really did it…and we…"
"We didn't do anything, Maria, we… we meant good, I mean, we tried to save them and… it's like you said to me once, the forces of darkness didn't want them to recover. But we did!"
"Did we, Julio? Did we?" The woman broke down in tears before reciting a Hail Mary in Spanish.
"We…I think we did, yes! I mean, they needed help and… the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing!"
"I thought the same, Julio, and you know it. But… one of those girls, her mother was from my congregation. The woman texted me, she said… she said she felt guilty. She said she wanted to do it too…"
"But… I just don't get it, we did the right thing, that place was evil! All I wanted is for those people to find help, to pull themselves by their bootstraps and get help. You and I, Maria, we talked about how beautiful life is and I… I wanted you…"
"Julio… just don't. Please. I'm a married woman. This… this was a mistake. My husband is out talking with that girl's mom. And while she's there talking to her pastor I can't… I can't do this"
The line went dead. Jules frantically dialed María again, but all he could hear was a strangely familiar robotic voice saying he'd been blocked. And it was at that precise moment when reality collapsed on him like a perfectly cliché house of cards. He tried to reason with the creeping emotions, he tried to block them. He went to the fridge for a beer and his trembling hands struggled to open the bottle. In a fit of instant rage, he smashed the bottleneck on the kitchen countertop and cut the tip of the very same right index finger that had clicked the damned website to its demise.
Jules tried to call María again, but the response was again a robotic voice saying the woman had blocked him. He mistakenly tapped on the recent apps button and opened KnocKnoc again, a similar robotic voice: the death toll was rising at an alarming rate and the relatives of the people who had committed suicide were starting to post themselves.
Some were genuinely shocked to see their beloved over-achieving offspring had taken their own lives despite a lifetime of success. A middle-aged balding man blamed the woke virus for making their daughter trans and vowed to make America great again in her memory: it was the first time he used her daughter's preferred pronouns. A woman posted a heartfelt goodbye full of regret along with a picture of herself kissing a long-haired young man behind the wheel of a hot-rod. A university made a public statement offering their thoughts and prayers to the family and students of a well-known academic loved by everyone.
And it was then that Jules finally felt it, right as he smashed his phone against the wall and burst into tears against his will. That's when the reality of suicide became evident for someone who vehemently opposed it, a twisted logic that can only be understood by the one who feels it. And he wanted to talk with someone. He thought of calling a suicide hotline, just like he'd suggested others to do a dozen times before, but his phone was unresponsive. He knocked on the neighbor's door, but the Joneses were on vacation. He went out of the building, not realizing he was looking somewhat disheveled after spending so much time in front of his computer executing what he thought was a master plan.
The streets were empty, and he just stood there in the cold, motionless against the silence before it was interrupted by a lonely gunshot in the distance. Jules heard the wail of an ambulance a few minutes later and the sound was unbearable. It was as if suddenly he could hear the world shouting at him through a stethoscope. He started walking aimlessly —a couple of junkies on the street avoiding him with a side glance— and ended up by the train tracks. The horn of a speeding cargo train blasted in the Christmas air and its sound shattered Jules' sense of reality with a painful force he'd never known before.
He screamed and took a final clumsy and pathetic step —maybe the only dignified step he'd taken in his entire life— before a thousand tons of rolling steel turned his body into a scarlet mist while his heart wished someone had listened to him in the hour of his demise.
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