You stand alone. A haze of frail black figures surround you. Screams. Whimpers. Cries. Death calls out to you. Demons come out to play. They torment you. They draw you in with their selfish lies that you soon begin to believe. You are worthless. Unwanted. Weak. They have you under their control. You put the pistol to your head. You wrap the rope around your neck. You empty the bottle of 30 little pills into the palm of your hand. It all feels right. You pull the trigger. You kick the stool out from under your feet. You lean back and pour the contents down your throat. The world begins to move in a slow pace. You suddenly regret it. You struggle to take your last breaths. You want time to turn back. Satan smirks. It's too late.