Today's the day I'm going to die. I walk quietly along the muddy road solemn to my destination. On my way, I think about how surreal this whole thing is. But, it's going to happen either way, because I can't take anymore. It's a never ending cycle of torture that has pushed me to my limits. Beyond my limits. An indescribable numbness to the world around me.
In my pocket I hold the necessary things; the only things that bring me depressed and bittersweet nostalgia- an artificial happiness that I've soaked in since 5th grade. Each thing is in my pouch that I hold most important to me. The most priceless one, though, is a cheap black plastic beaded necklace that was given to me on the last day of elementary school. He doesn't even remember giving it to me. I hope he does after I pass, and maybe he'll even come to my funeral. I imagine as I kick pebbles away with my blue sneakers, that he will come to my funeral in a black tux with tears welling in his eyes. He thinks to himself, "Why'd I have to ignore her and treat her like she doesn't exist? Would it have ended like this if I was there when she needed me to be?", his heart dripping and swelling with regret. Melancholy. Despair. Grief.
But instead, I am here on this road approaching the bridge where I've planned my suicide. I grip the railing and all in one motion, I take a sitting position on the cold railing. Now is the time to wait for my best friend.
My best friend arrives soon after me. He has been with me my entire life and has never let me down like the rest of them did. Quietly, without a single word, he joins me on the railing. We never speak a word because there's too much to say. Too early for second thoughts, we jump off together holding hands. Everything seems to go in slow motion but in a flash at the same time. I hit the pavement with a thud and everything goes black before I feel the pain. It's mixed up with all of the other suffering I've felt on this Earth.
I remember all of the times I've been wronged and that I have wronged. I think of the people I've loved and lost. The memories are the hardest part of all this, but it isn't the first time I've had to deal with the thought of them. All of the happy moments flutter before my vision. I sit there looking up at my mother and my father, as they take me out for ice cream in my little red wagon with my pigtails sticking out on both ends of my head. The same blonde curls I put in a braid the day of my suicide. Another memory hits me when I look out of the window in the attic and I watch as my stepdad drives away.
I didn't know that he'd be gone forever that day and never come back.
I was only nine years old and didn't know the severity of what just happened as I sat there staring out the window and watch as mom ran after him, crying. Another scene comes up that is all too familiar. I sit in the kitchen as I read a book - The Book Thief - and hear the phone ring, startling the tranquil atmosphere in the kitchen. I go to answer it thinking it's my best friend, but I'm sadly mistaken. An unfamiliar voice morosely tells me the news. My mother's dead. I drop the phone and everything is spinning. My heart aches and my head throbs. I can't control my animal noises and sobbing. My stepfather comes in and picks me up, rocks me and tries to get me to tell him what has happened, but I can't. Slowly that image fades and I go on to another painful one.
All of the memories that I can recall up to the moment of the bridge play through my vision.
Then it's dark again and a last image pops up into my head. It's like an old film but with incredible detail and color. I see myself picking strawberries in a field that I've never been in before. But this time I'm looking at me instead of being me. I look at the basket I'm holding and it has my name on it. All of a sudden I stand up and start to walk away towards the boy from 5th grade. He embraces me in a big hug and I accept it. I look at this scene as it changes into horror.
The boy takes out a knife and stealthily brings it up a few inches from my back. I cry out in pain and fall backwards, choking on my own blood. There is nothing I can do now but lay there and stare into his cold eyes as he picks up my basket of strawberries and walks away. I sit there dying as everyone I've ever loved walks past me. They all walk on, oblivious to my pain and instead just look at me with disgust. As the last few people walk on towards where the boy from 5th grade was walking, they all pick a berry from my basket and eat it right in front of my dying body.
Suddenly a boy runs over from the next strawberry row and picks me up.
He keeps whispering to me that everything is going to be ok. He slowly slides the knife out and hands it to me, picks me up, sets me on my feet, and walks toward the basket while holding my other hand. I follow him and as I do so, my wound heals up very slowly. As we approach my basket he let's go of my hand. Standing there is all I could do, so I watched him pour half of his strawberries into my basket. After my basket was halfway full he handed it to me with a smile tinted with a film of sadness.
We held hands and walked on for as far as I could see. And somehow, I just knew that they'd be walking on forever.
The video screen burned out and I felt happiness swallow me whole as I realized what was most important to me all of my life.
