Cedric never contemplated suicide.
He always figured that while at times life could be tough,
it is too short to end prematurely.
"Besides," he liked to joke, "I'll have enough time to try
out death."

However, the sensation of a fresh paper cut, placed on the
top right side of his left hand index finger, felt
suprisingly pleasant to him.
He bared his straight, off-colored teeth and bit down over
the circumference of the petty wound, stimulating the
surrounding nerves.
"Life is so boring without cuts," he thought to himself.

Cedric never intentionally punctured his skin in the past.
He had never thought of himself as angst ridden.
"Do I even have the courage to cut myself?" he muttered in
his own mind.
"What if I hit a major artery?" he started confabulating in
a low, half muted whisper.

"Is it suicide if I accidently kill myself?" His thoughts
started to wander deeper into disarray: "If I die, who will
feed Carmen, and what will Mom think? What if death is not
absolute nothingness?"  - Cedric was promptly alarmed by his
introspection.
Perhaps he was more frightened by the concept of life after
death, than by the notion of absolute nihillity.

"Oh well. I don't have the courage to cut myself anyway," he
said.

He put away his tax papers, and started walking towards the
kitchen.