Function

When I was seven, I tried to commit suicide. Everything was dark, except the floor, a long way beneath me. My feet dragged me towards the edge of the building. All that I knew was that it was windy, and getting windier by the second, my neck was quite itchy, and I was about to die.

"Ring a ring a rosies,
A pocket full of posies,
"A-tishoo! A-tishoo!"
We all fall down!"

I was never really a child. I had a childhood, and I looked like a child, but inside I was more like a machine. I did what I was told to do: I functioned.

"Survival is an instinct built into every animal on this planet: See prey, chase prey, pounce. Dinner. A cheetah would not misuse its speed. A leopard would never let its spots run away. Nature carries onwards. Life carries onwards. Things go the way that they should, and always will do. In the end, everything functions. Now just you remember that, son."

Black hair, brown eyes, thin face and no smile - The only things that anyone from my primary school can recall about me. Not my laugh, or the way I always teased Joey Sourage about his surname – principally because those were only things that I did in my head. I was too shy to let them out.

Of course, people would try to speak to me - Ironically, Joey tried the hardest. He was what I aspired to be, because he could talk openly and discuss things with teachers and laugh and smile and laugh some more, and everything he ever said or did or made anyone else do was worth talking about, and thinking about; worth smiling about until the end of the day. That was why I never spoke back: how could he ever understand someone like me?

"When Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross, he was sacrificing himself for all of the sins of humanity. This is no fiction; it is the truth and the reality. He sacrificed himself to save you, all of you; without him we would be nothing. We must listen to his every word, and heed his every warning. Without him, we would be nothing. How can we ignore he, who saved us all? We must follow him, without question. Follow, and he will lead us to a life of fulfilment, and a death that leads us to the gate in the skies. Without him, we will be nothing. Without him, we cannot exist."

I always thought that religion was bullshit. My mum died of too much religion. She spent too much time worshipping the lord and neglecting me and her holy fucking God punished her because of it. After me, you would've thought she'd have learnt from her mistakes.

It's coming from upstairs again: "…for the wages of sin is death, but the great gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.". It happens every night and I can never get to sleep. I can hear her kneeling now, kneeling on my dreams. She's looking up, hands clasped to the skies; eyes closed and heart open and mind tickling with nervous excitement at the connection she's about to make with her new man upstairs. And there I am, below, my little devil tail and little devil eyes, the temptation she's run away from. I'm under the carpet and she brushed me there so she can sell her house to some fat balding junkie that's sold her some good weed that she's got hooked on. Only problem is, it's also made her forget where she put me.

But then, on the day of her overdose, everything changed. I found her, and five hours later, was stood at the top of a building, preparing to throw myself off of it.

***

It's funny how these things happen, really. You spend your whole life hating something, but then when you lose it, you can't bear the thought of never seeing it again. You grow so attached to hating it, so fond of avoiding it that when there's nothing left to avoid any more, you just… break down. I think maybe I pushed my mum away.

***

My feet dragged me closer to the edge. Everything was dark, except the floor, a long way beneath me. I was reminded of one day, in school. I overheard my teacher, talking to someone. She said I was away with the fairies, and that I needed to be better grounded. I thought that maybe this would make her happy. As a child, I always did what I was told to do. I functioned.

But not that day.

***

I can hear a voice calling out into the distance: "No! Don't take my baby away from me. Don't you ever take my baby away from me!". I feel a hand on my naked leg, swinging me upside down, turning the world into some place strange and unfamiliar. Then my mother grabs me, holds me to her chest. "it'll be alright, baby, it'll all be just fine." And then we're moving, the world a blur by my side. I'm a racing car only there's nothing exciting about this: all I feel is the fear of crashing. At this speed, nothing else matters. I just have to stay on course.

Buildings race past me as my wheels screech. I drift sideways but somehow the target drifts with me and as I start off down the next straight I now know what it's like to run for your life. Except, suddenly, I realise that I'm not in the driving seat. I look to my right, and my mother is leant forward, her knuckles white on the wheel. She tries to glimpse sideways at me but all the while she's struggling to keep the vehicle under control. She only has time to worry about one thing at once, and at the moment, all that that is is crashing.

And then we're home, we're in the clear, and everything is warm again. I feel her gentle touch on my leg as she lifts me from my seat and places me gently in my bed. Her lips brush my forehead before she heads upstairs. I hear her footsteps as she goes; slowly, worriedly edging up the stairs. She kneels once she's in her bedroom, and I can hear her whispering under her breath. I can see her now, kneeling in front of me. Her hands are clasped tightly, her knuckles still pale. "Please… Christ, you can take me and mangle me and tear my fucking eyes out if you want to, but whatever you do… Lord, just… just please don't let him hurt my baby."

And with that, my mother had found God.

***

I stopped when I got to the edge. I stopped a while, and I thought: "why am I here?". I knew, of course, why I was there. I was there because I just couldn't do it any more. I couldn't cope with the anguish, and the pain; the sadness, and the silence. I couldn't cope with seeing Joey Sourage's face every time someone asked me what was wrong. I couldn't cope with God, and I couldn't cope with seeing my mother buried in the bible. That was no proper grave for her. That was no proper place for her heart to wither; to die.

I couldn't cope with being the devil.

I turned and walked away.

Survival is an instinct built into every animal on this planet: see prey, chase prey, pounce.

***

When I got home, for the first time ever, nothing happened. I didn't notice a single thing. Nothing was wrong.

I looked in the mirror, and I was reflected. But this time, I saw me. And I mean, I saw me. I smiled, and for the first time, I smiled back. Then my mum walked in, and she saw me, smiling. Only, she actually saw me. Smiling. And I saw her. I actually saw her; this great, amazing thing that had put up with me for the last seven years and hadn't ever taken anything out on me. Someone that had looked after me and protected me despite that I had neglected her and beaten her down with a huge baseball bat until she was bruised and broken and the only thing she could turn to for hope was a book full of nothing but words. And at that moment, for the first time, I loved her.

I cried, and I hugged her, and she didn't have a clue what had just happened but suddenly she was alive again. And I was alive again. And both of us were smiling.

Nine years later, I had my first major external exam. Religious education. The third question in: "What is the one universal fact which we must all eventually face?"

Joey Sourage was sat next to me, and I could just make out his answer: death is inevitable. I tutted to myself, smiled, and wrote down three equally simple but totally different words. Words that got me an A*, whilst he only got a C. The three words?

Life is beautiful.