It was a Truck
He pours his whiskey into a coffee mug, just so it doesn't look like he's drinking. This is after he's tried to shoot himself with a nail gun in the head, and by a stroke of God's genius, the power went out along his entire street, lights turning off house by house until he was pulling a trigger in a newly darkened tool shed.
He thinks about Jaejoong as he flips the coin which is supposed to tell him whether or not to drink the alcohol, watches it fall into the cup with a plop. The torchlight he holds helps him see that the coin says heads—not that he can remember which side meant what, anyway.
Jaejoong might say, were he present and not buried six feet under for a good five years, that he's going to drink it anyway, so he might as well just.
The accident is something he hasn't thought about in the past week till now. Jaejoong had been passed out drunk, and Yunho was not much better off, but at least his eyes were open.
Sometimes he blames the rain.
These days, he expects thirty second calls of Junsu screaming at him to stay away from toothpicks, or to throw all his kerosene away.
Because Yunho's house is simply brimming with kerosene. And toothpicks.
And then maybe a good twenty minutes later he calls back saying, "Don't worry Yunho-ssi. Apparently it was that kid's turn to die. You remember. The fake blond who was throwing popcorn at his mushroom headed friend. His stove ignited a toothpick in his mouth and he was holding paint thinner. Yea. I don't even know man. You're next though. I'm sure this time. I think."
Junsu's friend Changmin calls him too, sometimes, but only to complain about Junsu and how fucking uptight he is about everything because apparently, he just made him tape cardboard to all their knives and now he has a rash from the glue on the tape.
So he walks to the bathroom and thanks god that the power is out so he can't get any more stupid calls from stupid Junsu about his stupid premonitions, leaving the mug of whiskey and Jaejoong's memory in the kitchen.
He presses down and twists the cap of a bottle of sleeping pills from behind the mirror.
His hands shake. They haven't stopped after seeing that Yoochun person get dragged down the street on fire by a horse and carriage that was also on fire—like santa and his sled on a day other than christmas—but the shaky hands aren't something he can't ignore. Yoochun's death has left Junsu and Changmin's trio to turn into a disparate duo that Yunho has had the misfortune of coming between.
The security job at that race track has so far presented nothing but problems. Yoochun's flaming head landing on his lawn had been no big help. I should have just been a stupid custodian, he thinks.
He empties the entire bottle in his hands, watching as three of them tumble out of his palm and into the sink, netting together above the drain in a three prong so they don't fall through. Just as well. He'll take those later.
Swallowing sixty-five tablets is not as easy as Yunho had imagined. He takes five at a time, and then graduates to ten, and before long his tummy is swollen with tap water that tastes like Strong Mint Listerine from his gargling cup.
When he wakes, there are the ten remaining pills (not including the three still in the sink) in his hand, colour bleeding from his palm-sweat. He realises three things.
First, he'd fallen asleep. He'd expected to seize maybe, and then writhe on the floor for a bit before choking on his own vomit.
Second, he'd just woken up, so either the pills didn't work or he's still going to seize and writhe and vomit.
And third, there are stabbing pains in his stomach that force him into a sitting position, then into the bathroom huddled over the toilet. His puke is bitter from the pills with a minty after taste from the tap water.
He decides to cut himself some slack and watch some tv before trying again. He hits the power button on the remote a few times and then remembers that the power is still out.
So much for hoping the television would explode and get things over with.
He visits the tool shed for the second time that day, finding a hose that's lost most of its ductility from being kept for too long, but its the closest thing he can find to a rope. A simple noose isn't too hard to manage. It hangs around his neck as he returns to his bedroom to do the deed.
The lights flicker on. Power's back.
He turns the tv on to something that isn't news. He's had enough of the news. Someone's always dying on the news.
Someone's trying to bring his front door down, shouting something about him not being reachable for the past hour because they know what's going to happen next and that they need to stop it right away or he's going to be next. Again. So he quietly brings a chair to where the light buzzes over head and stands on it, tying the hose as tightly as he can to the light and kicks the chair from underneath him.
He writhes for a bit, before Junsu bursts through the door of his room and he pretends to be dead, hoping Junsu's bad timing and Changmin's ridiculous screams won't deter death from taking him.
The plastic on the hose begins to crack and he sputters before it breaks away completely, sending him crashing to the floor.
"Oh my gad, Yunho! After all we've done to try and stop these stupid deaths you're just going to throw your life away? What the hell," Junsu says as he crouches down beside Yunho, attempting to hoist him up. He gets up on his own and pulls the useless, cracking hose away from his neck.
"You know, I was just trying to resign myself to fate. I have been trying to kill myself all day. I couldn't shoot myself in the shed because the power went out, and then I just threw up an entire bottle of sleeping pills, and now this," he says, throwing the hose to the ground in indignation. "What do I gotta do to catch a break around here, huh?"
Changmin pokes the hose with his shoe disdainfully. They settle on the bed and stare at the television.
"Hang on. Why are you two here? Wasn't there some sort of emergency," Yunho says.
Junsu flips to a news channel and sighs, flopping down onto Yunho's bed.
Anchor lady says something about a kid named Jonghyun in the ICU, who'd been found under the rubble from the big crash at the race track, that his condition is stable and he's only got a broken leg left to nurse before he'll be able to go back to high school and live a normal life.
Junsu claims that Jonghyun is next on the list. And that's probably why Yunho hasn't been able to kill himself.
"Are we going to try and stop it, or are we just going to sit here and wait," Changmin asks.
Junsu sits up. "We'll go now."
"Good. I was starting to think I would die of old age."
The drive is silent, the roads relatively empty. Yunho turns right when Junsu tells him to and parks haphazardly outside the hospital, in some sort of display of their apparent urgency.
They get to Jonghyun's room easily, only to find him toasted by the medical equipment. Water from the faulty air conditioning had short circuited his life support, and he'd been electrocuted when he tried to call for the nurse. The room smells like burnt skin, and Jonghyun looks like a cooked sausage.
"So it's my turn now, right?" Yunho says as they walk slowly out the front doors, heads hanging from what they just saw. "I'm going to die next. Right?"
"I suppose. But I wouldn't worry about it, because I haven't seen anything about it yet. It'll probably take a while."
Changmin hails a cab and goes home because he is 'sick of seeing so many fucking dead bodies, christ'.
"You know, maybe it's deja-vu," says Yunho as they walk back to the car. There are only a few cars when they decide to cross the road. "Your premonitions, I mean. My mother used to talk about it all the time when I was younger. Everybody gets th—