’s almost ridiculous how I pose. My hands cover my breasts while my toes dig into the shag carpet beneath my quivering body. And here I laugh, self-conscience. I’m alone and I’m embarrassed. I can feel my heart pound furiously inside me; it’s incessant and it keeps reminding me of how stupid I truly am. But I have to go through with it. It’s too late to back out now. I’ve spent far too many hours thinking of this moment; I’ve practically convinced myself that there is no other way. And here is my heart telling me to put back on my clothes, drain my bath tub and curl up in a ball and sleep. My mind is the irrational one; it’s my heart’s duty to keep it in line. Then work harder, you stupid heart! Pound harder! Force me to collapse. If I faint here, I’ll still be alive. Your body can’t involuntarily breathe when your under water, now can it? 
I fumble to turn off the water. Now it’s here…it’s waiting…you have to do this. Through teary eyes, I look up and force my left leg into the tub. The cold water sends shivers up my spine and I exhale violently. My heart is going to pound out of my body any second now…Next, my right leg. Slowly, I lower myself in, gripping the sides so hard that my knuckles bare white. My teeth clatter in unison with my shivers. And I’m crying, but it’s not the thought of ending it all here. No, I can’t be sad about this. It’s just another plan; it’s on the schedule. Get it done, check it off. See? Not too bad. I think I’m crying because of how it’s going to end. I want my demise to be a sensation. Something epically wonderful, as sadistic as that sounds. If my life is a show then this must be the credits. Action! Cue the credits, cue the music, cue the pathetic attempt at ending one’s life.
My wrinkled toes feel over the plug at the bottom and I wish that it would become stuck. 
I’m thinking about the band Guster and lyrics and then billions of stars enter my head because I’m thinking about one of the lines having to do with them. Hanging on a wall of stars. Except, I’m in a bath tub and I’m preparing to sink and it all seems so genius. As if the simplicity of it all makes up for the simplicity of it all. And I pretend I see the moon through the ceiling as I slide further down, the water forming around my breasts. Its grey hues hum and I finally let out a much held breath. I lower myself even further. I think about my friends and what they will do for breakfast tomorrow. I wonder how long it will take for them to wake up in the morning. Will they try calling me tomorrow? Who will answer my phone? Does death allow missed calls? 
Well, it better, because I have more important things to do than answer a silly phone call. They won’t call, though. I can’t expect them to do that. 
The water nearly covers my chin. I don’t want to be ugly when they find me. I wish people didn’t look nearly so dead when they died…I want my lips to be rosy and my eyes to be clear and my hair to be silky. I want my skin to be smooth and breasts plump. But I am in water and I will wrinkle. I sigh. And who will find me? I can’t imagine who will be the first. And I am naked and they will see me and it’s almost too much to think about. But I’ll be gone and I won’t know that I am naked or that they are looking at a dead body. I won’t know of anything. I will have evaporated like the fine drops of rain on a sunny day.