I once met a man named Steve, whose life was like an empty crate, so I said to him these words eight, " Hello Steve from this world you should leave." He took it to heart and did his part.

Late at night, as quietly as a mouse, from somewhere in his house, he dug up a funnel to place in his throat tunnel, for channeling a deadly drink right down. All his fingers crossed in hoping, that after household cleaner cocktail dumping, his stomach the hospital would not try pumping it all from within.

His dearest wife, all full of strife, he had woken from her sleep. She happened upon him, poison thoroughly spread within. Her plump form, so soft fat and warm, cradled his body still twitching, bent on bitching him back to life.

Yet Steve in his deep deadly slumber, quickly becoming as silent and stiff as lumber, could do nothing more than listen, to the words of the harassing voice that convinced him, this pit fall was a permanent prison. Then, realizing he had finally made a decision, able to eliminate his dissatisfaction with precision, found no reason for this plans revision.

She continued to lecture, hoping it would erect her husband from the dead. From there she could bring him back to bed after some heckling and a sharp cuff on the head. But little did Wifey know, the talking she let go, is what made it utterly unlikely for Steve to rouse, for he began to browse the encyclopedic library of his mind.

Wherein Steve had now found a proof that was quite sound. The life he had led, most free time spent in bed, wishing himself out of his head, stuck in house beyond dreary growing ever more weary, due to a nagging wife that was clearly driving him over the edge. He had simply reached the final ledge.

Having taken this one little jump, over the tiny hump, set him rampaging free, like a once caged ape in a zoo jail break. "Ah," he whispered, "escape."