Kate had prepared the knot in advance the night before. As she retrieved the multicoloured, makeshift rope out of the cistern of the second ladies cubicle from the left, it looked exactly as she had remembered when she had hidden it there the night before. A large loop at one end, with nine thick coils winding up towards about a two foot length of rope beyond the knot itself. Kate thought it looked impressive; sinister. So synonymous was this method of knot tying with the gruesome demise of so many condemned souls throughout the ages, that just the symbolism of it made Kate shudder. Kate wasn’t the type to shudder, but here she did. The rope was wet from a night marinated in toilet water, and she briefly considered how this might hinder or help matters. There was only one way to find out.
It had taken thirteen weeks to accumulate hundreds of lengths of material and assemble them together into something of suitable length for her suicidal intentions without arousing suspicion. Now the many smaller, individual knickknacks were tied together in all manner of directions to form a length with the thickness and strength of a rope. Shoe laces of various colour and condition conjoined with scrap lengths of material she’d pocketed from the various textiles and craft sessions held at the Institution. Each individual knot was small and tight, but their collective strength came from their sheer quantity. Kate had modelled the main knot on a picture she’d seen on the cover of a paperback novel in the Institution library, called ‘Alex Cross’s Trial’. The cover featured a yellow and orange sunset, behind the title of the book, which stood prominent in bold, black letters. The ‘I’ of the word ‘Trial’ was represented by a rope, ending in a hangman knot similar to the one which Kate now held in her hands. After many failed practices on small pieces of cotton, Kate had eventually mastered the technique of securing this style of knot, which featured an adjustable noose that allowed a flexible loop size, but would tighten when the relevant weight was applied. The relevant weight being Kate.
Kate had raised the two-tiered bunk bed about half a foot off the ground, using stacks of A4 paper underneath the corners. She had collected the paper from various posters, letters and magazines over the same period of time that she’d collected the materials for the rope. It stood high enough now. Taking the saturated rope, she tied it around the highest bar of the guard rail on the top bunk of the bed. The loop end, she placed over her head, so it rested on top of her ears. The metal stool beneath her wobbled a little, owing more to its poor construction or condition than any nervous disposition on Kate’s part. She knew exactly what she wanted from this.
She paused and listened. The jumbled drone of dinner time chatter was broken up occasionally by the metallic chime of dropped cutlery. The source of it all was distant enough to give her the reassurance she needed. She would have enough time. She checked the knot on the bed frame one last time with a tug, before she slipped the loop around her neck and began rocking the stool. Gently at first, the less noise the stool made when it fell, the less chance that someone would come by to investigate. Now a little harder, as the left to right momentum was helped along by the rickety condition of the metal stool. This basic piece of furniture on which she stood, would have been manufactured by some factory operative or workshop engineer somewhere in the world. Little would they have anticipated at the time, the tragic use it would later be put to.
Kate rocked the stool left, then right, then left… then just air.