He was named after his grandfather, looked like a younger version of his father and was the heir to his mother's company. Every which way he looked, no matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to give the slightest hint that he was his own person. Always a puppet to others' ambition, never allowed to have his own ideas or even dream a future of his own... no, Thomas Bishop was but a spectator to his own life. That feeling of oppression darkened his mood and poisoned his mind until he felt dirty and corrupted enough by his own helplessness to take it all away one night... it did not work, even if he had jumped from the roof of a twenty-story building.
He took over a week to gather his courage and try again, this time with sleeping pill. Still nothing but a headache and a nauseated feeling. Car accident? Nothing. Drowning was but a bad dream, either. After so many failures, he was losing hope of an escape from his pitiful existence, yet one more mean remained. He could not survive being turned to ashes, right?
He had bought a galleon of gas, a cheap lighter and even found an out of the way area to commit his last deed. He was ready, but why did his heart still hurt so much despite his approaching demise? He should be relieved, right?