Monday, 20 June 2016

Natasha Suicide (Funeral Portraits Part 2)


Natasha Suicide has lived up to her name. Or died up to her name to be exact; the anti-human, anti-life Russian beauty. I've meet her on an online forum where she was avidly commenting about Depressive Suicidal Black Metal. Her beauty was stunning — elegant face, straight blonde hair, large green eyes — but there was something alien hidden in those expressive eyes, like she was there but not really, like she could turn into the chick from The Exorcist at the flip of a switch. 


When we'd chat from time to time she always threatened suicide and I knew she wasn't a poser, like the slut from Fight Club, feigning suicide just to get Brad Pitt's fat juicy cock. Natasha was the real deal. I mean, Russians are fucked!! Ever heard of Chernobyl? She lived in a town just like that, some fucking Stalinist monotone industrial nightmare, Elektrovorsk or some shit. You don't need a nuclear disaster to want to die if you live there. Hell, you're basically born dead. Speaking of Russians, have you seen the hoards of sick fucks, dressed in rags like zombies, who went to see Metallica and Pantera when they first played there after the fall of the Iron Curtain? More than one million rockers came to the show in Moscow. Were those musicians on that stage or Gods descended from a leaden sky? Poverty breeds a special kind of metalhead, a true kind, a dangerous kind. But, back to Natasha, I live in Canada and there wasn't much I could do to help her. And why bother anyway? Why help someone when you can sit back, study their self-destruction in slow motion, and wait for inspiration to strike.

When she abruptly deleted her Facebook profile I knew her time has come. She was gone from the online world and probably from the physical world as well. I only found out the gory details later on from the list of internet comments her suicide had spawned. Yuliana, one of the nurses, was more than happy to spill the beans in exchange of some social media attention. Natasha's suicide was probably big news in the small industrial town and fate had placed Yuliana in the thick of the action. At first I thought the nurse might exaggerate a bit for dramatic effect but everything she said fit perfectly with my idea of Natasha's macabre style.

Natasha had jumped from the tenth floor of her apartment building. Alas, she didn't die right away. Within minutes, they managed to pile her skinny, broken body in an ambulance, and rush her to the ER. She had a gas mask on her face, nobody knew why. One of the paramedics removed the mask and handed it to Yuliana as they reached the hospital. Even though agitated and shocked, Yuliana swears there were strange black patterns on the eyes of the mask, like satanic, occult symbols drawn with a marker. Then the paramedic nodded toward Natasha, unable to speak. When she looked at the mangled body on the stretcher the nurse gasped; Natasha's head was all covered in duct tape, like a weird mummy, tufts of blond hair sticking out here and there, blood seeping through the gaps. Her black "Life is Pain" t-shirt and cut off jeans were soiled with blood and barely held together a slim body that was but a bag of bones. Her tiny bare feet were twisted at weird angles from her shinbones and knees. She looked like a doll that suffered the vicious tantrum of some insane child in the middle of playing doctor.

                   


No amount of practice could ready Yuliana for this sight. The norms of her training flashed in her mind like some weird abstractions.

Breathing.

First and foremost, they needed to make sure the patient was able to breathe. Then they'd try to stop the massive bleeding and probably get a blood transfusion. But if the patient's mouth and nose were sealed by duct tape Natasha could asphyxiate and choke on her own blood. With trembling hands that seemed miles away Yuliana grabbed some scissors and started cutting through the grey mask. Soon, a gargling sound came from deep inside Natasha's throat. That meant she was still alive. Yuliana cut faster, all the way to the temple by Natasha's left eye.  Blood stuck to the tape and scissors like jelly. When the nurse unglued the cover from her mouth and nose and her left eye, Natasha's jaw fell down on her neck like an unhinged plate. A black thing coated in blood slid out of her mouth.  It was her iPhone. The gore didn't penetrate its slick case. It seemed like Natasha had pulled out her teeth and sliced the tendons of her jaw prior to the jump in order to better fit the device in her mouth. The black earphones still protruded from its jack and black strings went to Natasha's ears.

She's still listening to music, Yuliana realized as a cold shiver went through her. Mechanically, she removed one of the ear plugs. As if the nurse pressed the wrong button on a twisted robotic doll, Natasha began convulsing and screaming, spit and blood flying from her exposed tongue. Except what came out of Natasha's throat, Yuliana insisted on clarifying, was not so much a scream but sounded more like the squeals of a stuck pig. Natasha's left eye, the one not covered by duct tape, also opened and stared at Yuliana, bulging with hatred. That green eye now tinged with pure red rage. The nurse said that she was suddenly, irrationally afraid for her life. As if that mangled, ruined body would somehow manage to pull itself together, get up, and chew on the fringes of her sanity. Rip at it with that horribly dislodged jaw. Frantically, Yuliana placed the earplug back in Natasha's ear and the dying girl instantly stopped convulsing. The green eye squeezed shut and Yuliana swore she saw tears roll out of it. But that might just be her bullshit. Then the dying girl's body was rocked by puking fits as a black, reeking substance gushed from her ruined throat, drowning the already soiled phone. And then Natasha went still, a hideous doll, nurses in white uniforms gaping at her, a faint vibration of sad music still spilling from her phone into her skull and the sudden silence of the ER.     

Autopsy revealed that Natasha had also ingested a lethal amount of pesticide prior to her jump, Yuliana was happy to share. Natasha just wanted to be on the safe side, I thought, and do a thorough job. Suicide is tricky business. Hitler ate a bullet, popped a cyanide pill, and had ordered his body burned. Natasha was far worse than Hitler, trust me on this, although you won't find her name in stupid history books. She hated all life and the pest of humanity. She knew her enemy well, she strategized. She knew the deceitful hideous thing would cling to her with its slimy limbs like a rejected and obsessive lover, and she needed to battle it with all her strength. Fight it till the end, fight it in style.





2 comments:

  1. Great piece! I really enjoyed the writing style, in which you were so decriptive. I enjoyed the visual connection of her body with that of a broken doll, very vivid mental pictures. Overall a very good read! Good job!

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