Name

My name is Hero.

I don’t want it to be that though. Too much responsibility and implied immortality in the gig. You make one mistake and your life is done; that noose that hangs waiting for you in the corner of your bedroom is calling for you.

Oh, wait. That bedroom isn’t yours, it’s mine.

And that rope? It’s romantically cliché, oh so utterly overdone but the only thing that is the least messy. No need to force Mikey or Mom or… Lyn-Z to clean my brains from the ceiling or mop up the blood. No, no, no, I’ll make this easy for me. It’s what I want; it’s what I need; it’s what I fucking deserve.

I can’t carry on anymore. I can’t keep on living. I’m but a hypocrite. I am a rotten person in this unstable world that faces a single thing: death. Glorious, glorious death. I may as well hand in my ticket to Hell and clean myself up before I meet the Devil himself.

Why?

Because my name is Hero; because I made too many mistakes that I cannot take back.

Temptation and stress had blinded me and nurtured me when the humans that I had kept so much faith in could not. No, they would not. For reasons that I did not want to further taint myself with, they refused to assist me. They turned the other cheek whenever I asked for help. Ignored me, called me “arrogant” and “needy” behind my back. Said that I really had changed, that I was a “fucking asshole” and even more obscenities.

Was I that fucking monstrous?!

This pen is running out, but my mind is filled with questions and thoughts of betrayal. My brother, my wife, and my best friends seem to have turned their backs on me. And I’m alone. I… I can’t be alone now. Not now. Please God, not now. My hands are shaking and this damned implement won’t stop screwing up. Wasting ink on these famous last words; on this suicide note.

But that’s cliché too, isn’t it? This is bullshit but I yearn for it. I’m losing my goddamned mind, that’s for sure. There are voices inside my head, like an angel and a demon. One says to stop and call for an ambulance to take me to the hospital.

“They can help you!” he says.

But the other sneers and shakes his head. “Death is the only way out. You do want your Black Parade, right, Hero?”

I don’t know which to choose…

No. No! I’ve already made my decision!

So the voices can go fuck themselves.

I will face my fate head-on tonight. My doom; my demise; my disappearance. The wind blows the noose; my final resting place wickedly, and I will make sure that the angel that those coldhearted “humans” once saw is truly reality.

But I will have no wings jutting out of my back. A halo will not adorn my black mop of a head. A crushed windpipe and a pale, emotionless, dead face shall become my accessories in this macabre ballet.

And now, I will end it here. A childish phrase for a childish man. Please, do not claim forgiveness for what I am doing and have done. These wounds will never heal over and I can only ever make it harder for myself. I deserve to die… and I will; am; have.

My name is Hero. Nothing ever more and nothing ever less. These famous last words will only ever be just those, and the ending to this note will be spelled out in one word; two syllables; seven letters.

Goodbye.