Considering the large problem this country has with suicide, and we all know how slitting your wrists is considered a popular method among youth, I decided to see how easy it was for me to purchase one of these death machines. It was an unnaturally breezy summer morning. I hit nearly every red light on the way there, but I eventually made my way into the plaza where “Target” was located. Just the name of the establishment gave me chills. It was almost like I was being taunted the moment I walked through the automatic sliding front doors. I felt like I was next.
As I entered the building I was blasted with cold air which made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. The floors were so white and polished that they reflected the LED lights hanging high above me. There were people in gore-colored vests checking people out at the registers to my left. It took all I could muster to continue pressing on. As I passed by the Yu-Gi-Oh cards and make-up aisles a person sporting the previously mentioned blood tinted garment asked me if I, “needed help finding anything.” They were practically begging me to buy this irrefutably disgusting product. I was sickened to my core so much that I declined and decided to find it for myself.
Unfortunately, as I made my way through the aisles I found the “kitchen” section. I saw a kitchen knife set and I had to immediately make my way to the nearest bathroom. I twisted and I turned through the overtly bright corridors. I thought I heard a young child mutter something along the lines of, “Mommy, what’s wrong with that man.” If only that poor little kid knew. If only they knew. I finally found the bathroom. I busted into the closest stall and emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Just seeing that array of slaughter made my morally sound guts wretch. This was no time for quitting.
I steadied myself and left the restroom after wiping my face with a damp paper towel and headed straight for the toiletries. My heart and mind were racing. My adrenaline began kicking in and I turned the corner to see an entire pack of disposable razors. They were just placed on a shelf in a plastic bag, as if you couldn’t cut through plastic bags with a razor. I picked up the bag. It crinkled slightly. I felt my stomach turn again. Racing as quickly as I possibly could with horrifying scenes of bloodshed running through my tormented skull I finally reached the cash register.
“Sir, are you okay? You’re panting and sweating an awful lot” the cashier snidely remarked. He was mocking me already. I slammed a ten dollar bill on the table and screamed “KEEP THE CHANGE” as I ran through the door into the refreshing summer breeze. That was it. An average citizen was able to purchase a razor in a store that sells them in twelve minutes. Where have we gone as a society?