Monochrome Rainbow

He sits in that old wooden chair, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his paw. The noose sways gently above him from the ceiling. Is he just trying to dull the pain, or getting drunk enough to go through with it? Hard to tell.

You stand before him silently, having known this man your entire life. When your mother married him, he pulled you both out of poverty. He became your dad, running Dicken's Bowls, the small diner that kept food on the table and a roof over your heads. It wasn't much, but it was enough. And back when Mom was still around, everything felt like it fit together perfectly. They loved each other deeply, anyone could see that. But when she passed away, something inside him broke. He never talked about it, never cried. He just... shut down completely.

Over the years, you watched him try to move on, though the grief still clung to him like a shadow. It was there in the way he looked at her photos, in the quiet moments he thought no one else saw. After losing her, he poured every ounce of himself into being a good father for you, always supportive and encouraging, even while he was still drowning in his own sorrow. Maybe it's because you're the only piece of her he has left. Soon, you're about to lose him too.

None of this would've happened if you'd just kept your head down. If you had just ignored it like everyone else told you. But no, you had to fight back. You had to stand up for what you thought was right. There was blood on your hands, not your own blood.

You remember every punch thrown. The sickening crunch as your fist connected with his face, the same guy who laughed when your dad's diner windows got smashed in, called him a loser, spray-painted hateful words across the diner. He keyed your dad's car, slashed the tires on delivery days, made him lose business bit by bit until you finally snapped.

The memory of it is seared into your brain, the raw power of your knuckles colliding with flesh, the heavy thud as he hit the pavement. You couldn't stop yourself once you started. And when you were finished, he couldn't move anymore. You remember the bruises across his face, his parents screaming in horror, the crowd gathering around.

Of course they pressed charges against you. The whole town knew about the incident. But luckily for you, things worked out in the end. People spoke up and vouched for your character, calling you a good person and saying it was a one-time thing. The charges got reduced to mere fines.

But those fines were only the beginning of your troubles. They drained everything, your father lost the diner trying to keep up with the payments. Then came the parents of that man wanting compensation for their son's injuries, more money than you could ever afford. Legal fees piled up along with mounting debts.

And then came the bank, circling like vultures ready to swoop in and take everything from you both, the business, the house, everything you owned. It's all slipping away because of one moment of violence on your part.

It's all your fault.

Yet here he is, sitting in front of you, acting like everything's fine.

"Alright, I’ve got an idea. Don’t laugh, it’s a good one," he said one day, sitting you down at the table like it was just another conversation. His voice was steady, like he'd been thinking about this for a long time. He told you about the life insurance policy, how the suicide clause had expired years ago. His death would pay off the debts, save the house, and give you a shot at a future without him.

He asked for your help, even laughed while explaining it, like he was asking for a simple favor instead of planning his own death. He wanted you to make it look like depression had finally caught up with him. He patted your head affectionately and told you everything would be okay.

"Welp." His voice pulls you back to the present. He sets the bottle down on the floor. Then, slowly, he stands up, savoring these last moments. He reaches out, ruffling your hair like always, but this time his hand stays. It's almost like he's hesitating, part of him doesn't want to go through with it. But he doesn't say it aloud. His face stays calm.

"I’m outta here. Try not to miss me too much." He laughs, as he lets his hand drop from your head. He steps onto the chair and stands tall as he slips the noose around his neck, adjusting it like it’s nothing more than a tie. You stand there, watching him.

"Ah shit, almost forgot," he taps his head with his fist, his face brightening like he just remembered something important. “Don’t go pulling another all-nighter, okay? You need to sleep, get your ass to bed.”

He pulls the rope a little tighter, testing it, then looks back at you with a small smile. “Cut it out with the junk food. You’re not a college kid anymore, instant noodles and soda won’t keep you alive forever. Eat some damn veggies once in a while. And water. Seriously, drink water. That sugary crap’s not gonna fix you.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Just keep a water bottle with you, sip on it like you’re fancy or something. It’s not hard”

His tone gets a little more serious, but he’s still smiling. “Don’t blow the insurance money on dumb shit. That’s for your future, not fun. Save it. Plan for the long haul. if you don’t know what you’re doing, find someone who does, no shame in asking for help” He points at you, his expression playful but firm. “I’ll haunt your ass if you blow it on something stupid.”

He laughs at his own joke, but his voice softens again. “Avoid loans like the plague, unless there’s no way around it. Debt’s a goddamn trap. Work with what you’ve got, don’t let anyone sweet-talk you into something you can’t handle. You’re sharp, you’ll sort it out.”

He adjusts the noose again, moving like he’s done this a hundred times before, then looks at you with a softer expression. “Stick with good people. You know the ones, the ones who give a shit about you and make you better. Screw the rest. if you find someone who makes you laugh so hard your ribs hurt? Don’t screw it up. Treat ’em like gold.”

His voice is now quieter, his words slower. “Keep learning. Doesn’t matter what it is, school, work, life, just don’t stop. You’re smarter than you think, and I know you’ve got it in you to do something big.” He pauses, looking down for a moment. “But hey, don’t grind yourself into the ground, life’s gotta be fun too. Don’t let it all pass by.”

Then he looks back at you, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Oh, and don’t think I'm joking about haunting your ass if you don’t listen to me. I’ll knock stuff over, flick the lights, make your life spooky as hell. Just so you know I’m watching.” He smiles wider, but his eyes look tired with everything he isn’t saying out loud.

"Take care of yourself," his voice is low. “If shit ever gets too heavy, promise me you’ll talk to someone. Don’t play the lone wolf, you’re not in this alone.”

You find yourself unable to speak or move. He looks at you like he always does, so proud and full of love. "I’ll tell your mom just how damn amazing you’ve turned out. She’d be proud as hell," His words come out lightly, as if he's merely heading out for a short trip. A casual goodbye.

Your heart races and your words spill out in desperate pleas for him to stop and consider another way, any way but this. Your voice breaks but your words don't reach him. His mind is made up, he's already checked out mentally. He's convinced this is the only solution, the only way to fix everything and make things right.

But this isn't right. It can't be.