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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 14 | volume III | April-May, 2000



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 14April-May, 2000
Prose

Mr. Dika Decides to Kill Himself

(An excerpt from the forthcoming novel "The Suicide")


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p. 1
Slobodan Micković

    Mr. Dika decided to kill himself.
    Mr. Dika could have no idea, not the slightest idea, nor could he know or understand how much that decision would change his life.
    He decided to kill himself by sheer chance, so unexpectedly that even he was caught by surprise. Never before had Mr. Dika thought of killing himself. He actually never thought about death in general, philosophically speaking – as he would usually say sarcastically when mentioning or even just thinking about that word – philosophically, whereas concerning his own death, he never thought about it, nor did he have either a conscious or unconscious drive for it. He was not even aware of the phrase “death happens to others.” Generally speaking, Mr. Dika had built in himself an interior shield of protection against the word death.
    But, as often happens to such people, it took him only a moment to be seized, overwhelmed, and weighed down by the idea of killing himself. He had a fear of heights and at the moment he was seized by the idea of killing himself, he saw himself falling from a high tower onto the rocky crags below. He saw himself twisting in the air, his coat, his trousers, his hair, fluttering – and sensed no fear at all. On the contrary, he felt that it was a bright exit, a way out of his life.
    The decision to kill himself came upon Mr. Dika in a single moment of a spring day, a holiday, Easter, which means it happened on a Sunday. The morning was extremely bright and calm, without wind, with mild sunshine and the first flush of foliage. He stopped at a small parking lot in front of a newsstand, and after coming out of his car and closing the door behind him, which slammed like a burst of an explosion, he realised that there was some underwater silence in the air, that nothing moved in it, that there were no cars in the streets, that there was no one in sight, and that even the newsstand stood closed in front of him, barred by a green iron grid. Behind the newsstand, submerged in some translucent, almost unreal mist, pierced by the slanting rays of the sun, the City Park stretched.
    Without knowing why, Mr. Dika entered the park. He had not been there for more than fifteen years. “Nineteen,” said Mr. Dika clearly to himself. Then,






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