Ian Swenson .com

There was a box fan down in the basement. If Nathan stood on it, his head reached just above the water pipes running across the ceiling. He had taken a belt from their bedroom two floors up and brought it with him to the basement. The belt was braided leather with a solid brass buckle. His father had given it to him for Christmas one year when he visited home. He was shirtless and cold, for the concrete floor threatened to suck the life from him before he was able to accomplish the feat. Alone, forever.

Nathan balanced himself on the box fan and rigged the belt to the pipes. It took a few tries to tie the belt so that it would support his weight and fit around his neck tightly. He calmly placed the belt over his head, tightened it, and fastened the buckle. His eyes fixated on the opposite wall, mortar bricks, and his mind fixated on Solitude, Despair, Sadness. A shift of his weight and the box fan was sent skittering to the floor. Nathan hung in the still air, alone.

His mind focused on the pain. His eyes focused on the wall he was still facing. A sudden revelation forced his brain to his eyes as he noticed a crack in the bricks, flowing from ceiling to floor. The pain nearly capsized him as he now determinably struggled for freedom.

After a few harrowing moments, Nathan freed himself from the belt-noose and collapsed to the cold, hard, concrete floor. He moved only to stare at the crack in the wall.