Playing Possum

Harry, a man ensnared in the petty tyranny of domestic discord—specifically, a marital spat where his wife has delivered the final, crushing verbal blow—finds himself at the precipice of an absurd despair. In a fit of pique and a profound sense of having lost the ultimate argument, he resolves to extinguish his own existence. His subsequent attempts at self-annihilation unfold as a darkly comedic odyssey of futility. He employs a bewildering array of methods: from the perilous embrace of careening flivvers and thunderous trains to the perilous machinations of roughnecks and the depths sought by divers. Yet, each meticulously planned demise is thwarted by an uncanny, almost supernatural, stroke of luck or circumstance. He possesses, it seems, a charmed life, a cruel irony that prevents him from achieving his desired oblivion. Exhausted by the sheer effort of trying to die and utterly disgusted by his persistent failure, Harry eventually capitulates, resolving to simply endure. It is precisely at this juncture, when he has finally surrendered to the inevitability of living, that the fickle hand of fate intervenes with its ultimate, mordant jest: a car, seemingly out of nowhere, strikes him down, delivering the very end he had so desperately, and unsuccessfully, pursued.