PotSmokingSloth
Uncertainty & Impermanence
- Sep 13, 2021
- 80
And so Stanly took 20 mg of clonidine, stripped down to his boxer briefs and a pair of boots, and proceeded to walk out into the below freezing snowy outdoors, carrying nothing but a fifth of bourbon whiskey in his left hand, which he'd already drunk half of, and a tarp and blanket in his right, to lie directly on top of which he would do after laying it flat in the snow, the tarp first, then the blanket on top of that. The sharpness of the snow directly on his skin would be a bit much he figured and so he opted for lying on top of a blanket and allowing the cold air in combination with the sedation precipitated by the very potent combination of a fifth of a barrel of 45% abv hard liquor, bourbon in particular which was his favorite, and 100x his daily clonidine dosage (100 .2 mg pills, crushed into powder with a mortar and pestle, mixed in with 12 ounces of distilled water, and quickly drunk), allowing this combination to carry him off into oblivion while the freezing cold ensures his unawakening. Of course, considering the off chance someone should find him before he's gone, he would walk about a mile off the property of the cabin he had been staying at to create a reasonably adequate distance from shelter, and in addition to this measure he would have a largely- and hand-written note taped to his chest warning any who find him that his body contains within it the very toxic and dangerous sodium azide; a warning which would indeed be a lie, but would nonetheless serve a purpose to disincline any who come across him from trying to help without calling professional hazardous waste managing services to attend to such an ominously warning inclusive self-euthanasia case.
He had walked for about 10 minutes (just under a half mile) through the snow before collapsing face first into the soft powdery white bed of snow before him; the now ¾ drunk 5th of whiskey, folded up tarp and blanket, both landing on either side of him. That was it for Stanly. His shit was done. Ended. Fin. Goodbye Stan The Man. May you rest in peace.
So there's a little piece of fiction I wrote ^ What do you think?
Idk when I'll be ready to go through with something like this, in my case there won't be no cabin or snow. The other aspects including the cold temperature are feasable options.
He had walked for about 10 minutes (just under a half mile) through the snow before collapsing face first into the soft powdery white bed of snow before him; the now ¾ drunk 5th of whiskey, folded up tarp and blanket, both landing on either side of him. That was it for Stanly. His shit was done. Ended. Fin. Goodbye Stan The Man. May you rest in peace.
So there's a little piece of fiction I wrote ^ What do you think?
Idk when I'll be ready to go through with something like this, in my case there won't be no cabin or snow. The other aspects including the cold temperature are feasable options.
