Paradise… you ask me to imagine this place.
Well… it’s far away. No one can touch this world.
It’s very beautiful.
Flowers are blooming into beautiful roses, white roses, black roses, yellow roses, purple morning glories, pink roses, pink morning glories, daisies, dandelions, and all sorts of shapes and colors of mountains.
With a beautiful mixture of colors in a sunrise over the crest of the mountains.
Causing a pink glow in the midst of a purple sky, with white clouds in the mixture.
You can pick the flowers, but choose not to.
Unless you pick the dandelion.
You see the multitude of loved ones. The ones who hold your heart.
And as you turn away, you feel as though it’s safe. Safe to runaway.
You come to the gate. A gate made of white gold, trimmed in brass.
Emeralds within the structures. With laces of black, white, and purple, and pink.
You can smell the seductive aroma of the perfumed grasses so elegantly growing and swaying in the ever so gently breeze.
You open the gate by the brass handle and enter into a world of ecstasy.
You lay down in the fields, flat on your back.
Looking up at the sky, all alone in the field, you just close your eyes and feel the comforting warmth of the shining sun, glaring down upon your skin.
You are soon lost. Taken to another world.
That will eventually leave a smile on your face.
And you are really happy. There is no faking it. You are perfectly content.
This is paradise.

Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: A writing challenge from a friend asking what paradise meant to me.
I was 20 years old when I was answering this.

Drowning of a Writer

Bubbles… accelerating to the surface. Pleading for my forgiveness, for my survival, my rescue. “HELP!” I’m crying from within the depth of the ocean. I’m losing my life. My will to fight is being taken from me. The strength of the almighty sea is too much for me. My body grows weak. I’m feeling numb. Every inch of my muscles are aching! Yet… all I can think about is fighting for my life. If only I had a little hero, or maybe a little support. If only I weren’t in so deep, but I’m in way over my head. As I struggle with every breath I have left in my body, I sink further and further, into my burial grounds. My new dwelling place, where my bones shall rot into tiny pieces of exhausted life. Soon, I will have nothing left. No warmth of loving. No tears of enjoyment… no successes to celebrate, no songs for the singer, no words for the poet, no energy for living. Soon, I’ll be gone… to never return.
Alone I have battled these waters, and though I came as close as to seeing the shining of the sun, I was quickly grasped by the force of the underworld. Only miracles can save me now. A damsel in distress, I am. I’m falling faster. I search in desperation for something to hold onto, and as I try to recover with the little things, I find my strength is overwhelming. My burdens are too heavy. Nothing could bring me back now. I’m drowning.

6-19-1989 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. I use to subtitle this Ode to Suicide… actually the original title itself was Ode to Suicide, but I made it a subtitle so no one would worry or try to take it from me. Now, I don’t think it is wise to have such a title because suicide itself is not beautiful.