"Charles Freck, becoming progressively more and more depressed by what was happening around him, decided finally to off himself. There was no problem in the circles where he hung out in putting an end to yourself. You just bought a large quantity of downers and took them with some cheap wine.
The planning part had to do with the artifacts he wanted found on him by later archeologists. He had spent several days deciding--much longer than he had spent deciding to kill himself. He would be found lying on his back on his bed, with a copy of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, and an unfinished letter to Exxon protesting the cancellation of his gas credit card. That way he would indict the system and achieve something by his death over and above what the death itself achieved.
[...]
Back home again, he uncorked the wine, let it breathe, drank a few glasses of it, and tried to think of something meaningful but could not. And then, with a glass of Merlot, gulped down all the pills at once...
[...]
The next thing he knew, a creature from between dimensions was standing next to his bed looking down at him disapprovingly.
Freck: You here to read me my sins? Yea, it's gonna take a hundred thousand hours...
Creature: Your sins will be read to you ceaselessly in shifts throughout eternity, the list will never end...
Charles Freck wished he could take back the last half hour of his life..."
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