𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥?

Side Effects

It was September 11, 2001. Me and my best friend in the whole wide world, Emily, were in the twin towers working, as usual. But I knew a part of my heart would be ripped out of me. Both of us were in the cafeteria. Talking, eating, gossiping about our co-workers, and all that jazz, when suddenly we hear someone shouting "RUN, RUN. EVERYONE RUN FOR YOUR LIVES". I immediately went into panic mode. Emily, just being Emily, wanted to find out for herself what happened. In the blink of an eye, a plane crashes into the building. There was smoke all over the place. I ran as fast as I could to find Emily. I found her, and there she was. Or should I say her dead body was there? I broke down in tears. She was dead. The only person I loved and cared about was crushed right in front of me. And I was too selfish to help her. It seemed like everyone I truly loved was ripped out of me. So I made a promise to myself that was along the lines of 'Don't get attached to anyone'. But that was quickly broken when I met Emily. She was like the other half of me. We were like yin and yang. As expected, she was ripped out of me too. I was knocked out of my thoughts when my coworker, Jack, put me over his shoulder. Jack and I lived on the same floor of our apartment building, so we would frequently see one another in the halls. "What the hell are you doing?! Are you out of your mind? I have to save her! " I screamed and tried to wiggle out of his grip. "No, I won't let you go. You did the best you could; you can't change the past. And while you're at it, stop wiggling. I Won't let you go," Jack replied. I might have gone unconscious because I don't remember anything from that point on. But the thought of her dead body kept taunting me. All she was saying in my head over and over was, 'This is your fault'. 
 
In the two years since 9/11 happened, she has never left my mind. Every night I get night terrors, which aren't any good. It's just her saying the same thing again and again: 'This is your fault'. I can't do this anymore. I need this to stop. I haven't come out of my room, or more like my house, in almost 7–10 months. If I need anything, I can just order it online. My life is a mess. I have gone to the point where I ask myself, What is the point of life? My life? I finally took it upon myself to end this madness. I put on an old pair of clothes, grabbed the knife, and went to the rooftop. My apartment building was ten floors high. Once I got up there and walked to the edge, I looked down, took a deep breath, and said "I love you, Emily". And with that, I slit my wrist with a knife. Blood was gushing out of me as I walked off the edge. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I saw her. Sitting on a bench. "Hey, Emily," I said with a cheeky smile. She didn't respond. She stood up, slapped me as hard as she could, and pushed me. After that, she disappeared into thin air. "At least I got to see you one last time, my beloved Emily."