I'm Still Breathing

thirteen

I hastily climb the stairs, clutching the metal railing, holding me up. I feel my body being heavy, as I climb up the stairs, afraid of what to come.

I push the metal door open and feel the cold air sting my skin. I see the vast skies and buildings, making excruciating view with their lights, destroying nature. I head to ledge and stand up. I can see everything to the little details of the sky and the buildings. I see every curve of the street that leads somewhere, away from this horrid place. I walk at the thin ledge, not afraid to fall, spreading my arms to balance me. One slip and I could fly, feeling safe at the sunlight blaring at my skin, guiding me down, but not right now.

I sit on the edge and dump out of the contents of my bags on the floor. I see my Sharpie, cutter, and my letters to him that I haven't had a chance to give.

I take a good look on the people below, ignorant to the world revolving around them, especially to the person sitting on the high rooftop of the apartment that Jamie and I once lived together, happily.

I'm dead to them, all of them. I did everything to be perfect to their eyes, but it wasn't enough. I think this will be the sweetest feeling, making their gut wretch, as I finally end the burden I've been. It's relaxing and relieving that I will be there, lying on the cold, hard ground. I'll be doing them a favor, erasing my existence to them.

I hear the cars blowing their horns and muttering. I see people talking, laughing to their friends. Plastics. They couldn't be possibly happy because everybody's life is dark and grey.

Now, you're just being bitter and cold just because nobody loves you.

I take out my letter to him and put it on my pocket. I take out my Sharpie and write on my wrist, creating an artwork, combining it with the dried blood that I didn't mind to wipe away. I put the Sharpie on the side and take out my cutter. I slide it on my wrist, not even flinching because I can't feel anything. I don't feel pain; I'm already used to the pain. I see what artwork I made, smiling to myself.

I'm not regretting this decision; this is my choice for I'm tired of all the gossip and problems life laid out. I'm very tired and I could never confront it, now, I'm giving up, just like this. I'm not going to regret this because I'm done. I'm a waste of space. If I'm going to hell with this, then I'm glad I've got to spend my life down there instead of here. I rather stand the excruciating fire than the pain and heartbreak people give me.

I throw my cutter at my side and get ready by standing up. I look at the ground and take a breath.

What does it feel like to die? Will it be painful?

I shake my head and take a step, letting myself fall. I feel myself falling and the cold air making contact with my face. I close my eyes and let myself fall, feeling a hard pounding in my chest.

Just let gravity do its work. My subconscious tells me.

I hear an ear-piercing scream and feel my body hit the cold cement. This is it.

This is the best mistake that I did, but I can feel stares piercing at my back, looking at me, and shouting for help. I try to open my eyes or move, but I can't. I hear my heart pounding in a fast pace that made me pass out, with the warmth of the sun shining on my body.