[ WP ] `` Who would have guessed that killing myself would be the best decision I ever made . ''

The sky was overcast and dark in general. Smith approached the small house. It was fairly far from the villages, isolated. Such homes were reserved for solitary types. It had been newly built, in expectation of new arrivals. He took out his pen, clicked it, and turned a page over on his clipboard. `` Michael Fitzgerald'' was his next visit. At the rate people died, performing routine population checks in the Afterlife became a very important task. And to think the place was little more than a desert thousands of years back. Smith himself had been here for centuries. But modernising was n't difficult, what with all the new people. The Afterlife was an open minded place. With death and harm no longer be a concern, many worries that were once present were now gone. People took time to hang out. 
 
 Which is why solitary homes such as Fitzgerald's were such an oddity. 
 
 Smith entered, without knocking. Knocking was n't the norm there. He examined the entrance. Bland. There was no wallpaper on the walls, and no carpets on the ground. 
 
 A figure walked around a corner. A small man, fairly ugly and overweight, emerged, wearing a frown on his face. He ogled Smith askance and, clearly trying to suppress a bout of anger, checking his pulse while doing so. 
 
 `` Recensement, I presume. ``, the small man said, not bothering to look Smith in the eyes. 
 
 `` Yes, Mr Fitzgerald. ``, said Smith. `` I have a few questions for you.'' 
 
'Sit down. Make it quick.'' 
 
 Fitzgerald pointed to a small metal stool in a corner. Smith pulled it and sat down. He was a tall fellow and as such, sitting down brought him to eye level with Fitzgerald. Smith himself was fairly robust, with a well defined face, yet clear eyes which sat beneath a `` Macklemore'' haircut, a style very popular in the year 2014. Fitzgerald, instead, sported long, greasy, unkempt hair. He had a large bulbous nose covered in pores, and his misaligned grey eyes were sunken in, surrounded by black bags. Smith thought this odd. Those in the afterlife looked as they had looked on the best day of their life. 
 
 Smith cleared his throat. `` First,'' he said, `` I'll need your cause of death.'' 
 
 `` Suicide. ``, said Fitzgerald nearly instantly. Smith was taken aback and a bit worried. Talking to suicide victims was never fun. 
 
 `` I'll say'', said Fitzgerald in his low, nearly inaudible voice. `` It was n't easy. Took me some time. Heh. When I think of this asshole...'' 
 
 `` Your depression? ``, asked Smith. Suicide victims usually reported their dark thoughts as another entity - sometimes a black dog, sometimes a beast. They took solace in knowing that it had not followed them into the afterlife. 
 
 `` Haha! No,'' Fitzgerald cackled. `` I did him in eventually. I dominated.'' Smith could n't understand. 
 
 `` Well,'' said Smith. Let's move to the next question. This is mostly personal stuff... you know.'' 
 
 Smith glanced up from hid clipboard to take a glance at Fitzgerald, who simply was looking out the window. 
 
 `` Right'', Smith continued. `` I'll need your reasons for committing suicide. Just tell me your story.'' 
 
 `` I hated him.'' 
 
 `` Who?'' 
 
 `` The other one in my head. We had the same name. It was always a dtruggle, the other trying to get rid of the other. He wanted control, I wanted to die.'' 
 
 `` Interesting. Why did you want him dead? `` 
 
 `` Because he kept fucking things up. `` 
 
 `` To err is human.'' 
 
 `` He would constantly mess things up for both of us. For years we cohabited. Maybe I had n't wisened up to it yet. But eventually the poor decisions he would make following nothing but his emotions while in control got the best of me. So I planned a plan to die. I'd thought of it before, but it hit me that it was the only way to dominate. That was always the plan, to reduce him to nonexistence. It pleases me to think back on it. Oh, how pathetic he was. Did you know he reached out for help once? He called a hotline and was committed to a mental hospital. All to get rid of me, a last minute attempt. I had been so close to checkmate. He flipped the board and scattered the pieces. Now that I recall, he involved others in our game. A clear and egregious violation of the rules. He must have been getting really desperate.'' 
 
 Smith was starting to feel uneasy. 
 
 `` But that was his swan song. And it was a failure, as he'd always been. Perhaps he'd have stood a chance, had he been more focused on killing me than he was on surviving. Ugly short fucker. But at that point, he was practically dead. I think my careful manipulation of the medical staff whom I sweet talked into letting me out must have done in him in. I clearly made the right choice. I've all I ever needed now. A roof, entertainment, and quiet. Who would have guessed that killing myself would be the best decision I ever made?''
