[ WP ] The last human , suicidal yet immortal , hears a knock on the door

And swing. 
 
 The chair falls to the floor and Roy dangled from the rope that he'd used to attempt to hang himself. He felt the threads digging into his jaw, making rope burn that meant nothing to him right now. He'd practiced this many nights, hoping that one evening it might work, but it never did. 
 
 He swayed for a second, back and forth, and closed his eyes. 
 Roy always thought that sometimes the hanging gives you a moment to think and the tingling in your toes felt nice. 
 
 He wondered about how many people died with the plague, but when Roy walked the streets during the day to find ways to end his never ending alone time, he never encountered any people. He was always by himself. He'd been by himself for so long, he had stopped talking to himself for company. Now it was just to find ways to make suicidal practice perhaps, one day, effective. If only he had help. 
 
 He wriggled a little and thought that maybe one of the last days when he stopped trying to actively live was when he was at the hospital, trying to help, *trying* to save lives, and one of his last patients was a young boy, not much older than 15, screaming in pain. The boy's eyes were bloodshot and bleeding with disease and he was coughing up black. All Roy could do was inject more and more morphine, but it never stopped the screaming. The kind of screaming that makes the back of your neck prickle when you realize you can not do anything. 
 
 And then came the accusations for why he was n't getting sick. `` What do you know? Tell us what you know? Why are are n't you FUCKING DYING?!'' 
 
 He did n't have answers for these people. He could n't tell them why or how he was still in the pink of health. The authorities took him in, his replacement superiors took him in and drew blood and urine and fecal samples; they completed brain scans, x-rays and MRI's and still *nothing*, no answers. 
 
 Then one day, with an IV in his arm, becoming antsy and nervous, he got up to the window of the room he was locked in to see outside. No one was there, walking around, as should people normally should be in a disease ridden hospital. At that moment, with seeing no one outside, a cold feeling started to grow in the pit of Roy's stomach. He started banging on the door and forgot about the IV -- and the needle ripped out of his skin, tearing open his forearm, gushing blood on the floor. He stopped banging on the door and looked at his arm and realized that it was n't really hurting... this three inch open gaping wound was n't hurting. He blinked at it, and gulped. He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and slammed it against the glass, breaking it. Roy reached outside the door, unlocked it, and left. 
 
 When Roy reached the doors of the quiet hospital, his arm and shirt were covered in blood. He was quite done. The street had cars strewn haphazardly across it, as if people had just stopped wherever they were and ditched their cars for some greater purpose. One of the vehicles was a police car. Roy ran over to it and searched it and found what he was looking for, a firearm. Finding it loaded, he put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked harder than he expected and the metal slammed against the top row of his teeth and his ears exploded with a ringing sound. He pulled the gun out of his mouth and felt warmness flowing down his head. Putting his hand on his head, it came away bloody, but no pain. Roy buried his head in his hands and wept. 
 
 So now, Roy spent his nights swinging from his rafters, when he did n't feel like tying his feet to concrete blocks and jumping from the Court Street bridge, or testing which butcher knife would cleave his veins in two the cleanest, or which container of bleach tasted best....or whatever creative final solution he tried on himself. 
 
 So now, he reached up to loosen his noose and let himself down. Just as he started to pull his head out of the rope, he heard a knock on his front door. 
 
 He stopped moving, but still swayed back and forth. The knocking continued. 
 
 Roy quickly tried to theorize who the hell his mystery guest might be. There were no people left... no one who knew he was alive... why was he afraid? No one could hurt him, not even himself. 
 
 The knocking continued. Roy loosened the knot and crashed to the floor. The knocking stopped and Roy lay still. He could have sworn he heard breathing. He felt like he was going to throw up. Roy decided he had to open the door -- this was literally first human contact he'd heard in months. 
 
 Roy got up and opened the door. A rope was thrown around his neck quickly and suddenly and he felt hands moving the knot closer to his neck. Roy instinctively reached for the other set of hands, but they had him to his knees. Roy started to gasp for air, bewildered as to why he was gasping for air. He finally felt the muscles in his neck constricting, his windpipe collapsing. He closed his eyes and felt the tingling sensation in his toes. 

