Easier This Way

They'll call it suicide.

That's exactly what I want. I've even left a suicide note. Right on the table beside the small bottle of pills and the large bottle of whiskey. It's a good note, full of sentimental, world-weary crap. They'll find me lying here under this cottonwood tree and they'll call it a suicide.

But the note is a lie. I can't...won't...can't tell anybody the truth. I've done awful things. Horrible things. Wicked, unforgivable things. And I'll keep doing them until I'm caught or I'm dead. I don't want to get caught. It's easier to do this than to try to stop. It's easier to do this than to get caught and go to prison.

They'll call it suicide. It's not. It's not justice, either. Or atonement or expiation. It's just easier.