Goodbye.

I'm teetering on the edge, or at least I will be, I know I'll stand back "Do I really want to do this?" "Of course you don't" I will look at myself quizzically, "Well what do I want?"

I will walk away, that will frustrate me so much to see myself actually turn my back on me. It's no use shouting or calling out, I can hear myself, I know what I'd be thinking, if anything I would say could stop myself I would have thought of it previously.

So of course I'll run after myself, and of course I would have know that's what I'd do. But I'll be right, I shouldn't do it like this.

I will sit down at my table facing myself, much like I'm doing now but it'll be different, I will stare into eyes that show no fear knowing they're looking back into eyes that will be terrified, I won't be able to control myself, I never have been able to.

If you think this is a riddle, a metaphor or a clever conundrum I require you to solve, it is not. I'm taking myself away from baffling those few who read. I feel I need to be straight with all four of you. Take it from me, this is really happening. I am actually writing this with one steady hand and another shaking.

"If that won't work how should I do it?"

"Make it graceful, serene... perfect."

"You know what I'm going to do, why can't you just tell me?"

I exchange unpleasant words with myself for some time, nowhere near to concluding myself yet. I stand up in rage and push the table forward into myself, but I know I rectify the change because I will sit here later in this very spot and it will look the same.

It's never been my intention to go out with a bottle on the floor or suspended with no dignity. I need to know where I go from this table, where I move to next. I pace and pace, I've gone somewhere else, disappeared into a back room somewhere. There's no use trying to find myself, if I don't want to be found I can't be found.

It's going to be a cold new year, a dark murky one, but no fear. I have no intention of seeing this one through. Someone clever may have seen this coming, someone might've deciphered my entries keenly, buzzing excitedly in front of their screens as they unlock the words I have laid down for you all. I doubt it however, like all codes or cyphers you need an introduction, a clue, to get you started. The clue is my brain. My mind makes sense of it all, I'm afraid you cannot, not without my understanding and insight. Simple really isn't it. Of course none of you cared enough to explore so deeply as to arrive at that conclusion but it is there nonetheless.

I perch on my table, waiting for me to come back. But I don't, not for a while, not until I'm back at the seat I was in just a few moments ago. I sit down hoping I can cut out the middle of this tale, no luck something's wrong, the table has changed.

I know I turned out the lights before I left, but why? Is it something related to this cold darkness? Am I to trip and fall leading everyone to believe it was by accident. That seems perfect, I feel as if my mind will be rested, untouched or questioned.

I kick my toe against a loose brick on the cold floor and begin to fall. I keep my arms firmly at my side, nothing will intervene at this moment. As I pass through the room, coming closer and closer to touchdown, the cold musty air bushes my cheek affectionately, "Goodbye" she whispers in my ear.

But I woke myself up. I opened my eye to see my blank expression peering at me from bended knee. I must endure more surely. "What were you trying to achieve?" - I say nothing to myself.

I'm sitting at my table. I must have moved it back into position while I lay on the floor. My head throbs from where it collided with the cobbles. This isn't the moment, I won't be in pain when I sit her last, just in fear. So this must be the penultimate time. I wonder what I do in the interim.

I just look at myself from across the table drumming my thumb on the table over and over and over and over again. I stand pushing the table at myself. The table won't move. I never pushed it. I've realised I'm still sitting. I never stood. I'm sitting pain free, but I'm panicking, "Why couldn't I move the table?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?"

The corner of my mouth lifted up slightly and then snapped back to its usual fall of an unsettling grimace. I never smile. Why have I just smiled at myself? Something must have changed, it had to change. Is it because this is the moment? Is that what I'm supposed to figure out, that this is the time it happens? The balancing of the equation. I know that I know so that could explain the sudden flicker of a smile, but it was enough to tell me what I need to know.

I stand up and approach myself. I whisper in my ear listening intently. This moment passes so slowly, it seems as if each word were a sentence, and each sentence were a paragraph from a very complex book. But it's simple really, remarkably simple.

I will stand up following this encounter and move out to my car. I will siphon off the petrol from my tank and put it into a bucket, then move back into this room. I will go to the only draw in my kitchen and pull out the only item in that draw.

So I stand now with the fumes rising up into my nostrils, peering out of the window into the darkness. This is the end then. I reach down and get the bucket and gently pour it on myself. It trickles slowly down my face, splashing onto my shoulders and my chest. It soaks into my shirt easily as it continues to tumble down to my extremities and there it ends its journey as it flows down onto the cold floor settling in-between each rounded stone. I hold my item aloft and send sparks into the room, once, twice and a third time will little success. A fourth. I strike it with vigour and determination, the spark is bigger, the gas rises to it creating a small flicker that will soon become my shirt, it will become my skin. The largest organ the body has illuminated beautifully as a final act.

I touch the fire to my skin, "Goodbye" I whisper to myself.

I stand frozen, burning in the room of this small cottage. It once belonged to my grandmother who passed it to me. I will pass it to no one. I will -

There was no reply. I said farewell to this world and there was no reply. I couldn't move the table. The flames stop and I'm seated once again in this chair, staring at myself. I look intently as a smile crawls up my face.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"Yes" I replied to myself as I stare at my body lying on this cold cobbled floor. A devilish halo encircles my mind and everything in it. I saw myself lying without grace or serenity. I looked broken and hollow. I didn't miss myself.

This tale would be over, except for me. I'm still typing. I'm still talking to you. I said I wanted to go out grace. So have a happy new year everybody. I'll be seeing you.

Goodbye.