It’s a somber, very loud kind of silence that fills your ears before you write the last words you’ll ever write to people who you’ve never met but off the internet.
But it’s a silence that you welcome, because it’s a decisive silence. The kind of silence that you hear before the executioner rears his axe to kill the prisoner. Which was, in this case, fairly accurate. Except, he was both the executioner and the prisoner.
Goodbye all, and goodnight.
When his last post had loaded and was up, he took a step back and surveyed his room for the last time. He touched his bookcase, full of his favourite stories. And his bed, where he sobbed every night nowadays. And the gun, knowing it was his way out.
It would be quick. Easy.
No turning back.
It would be over soon.
He could give up and rest.
He took the gun and pressed it to his forehead, hoping that some of the blood would spatter on his suicide note. That would make it adequately graphic and theatric.
He always had wanted to go out with a bang.
He had written that note in English class. Mrs. Hill, the teacher, came up to him and asked him what he was writing.
Mrs. Hill… she, out of his entire 17 years, was the first person he trusted, aside from his father, before his death. She stuck up for him when his stepfather had started beating him in the parking lot of the high school. She had let him stay into the late hours of the night with her in the classroom, both of them reading, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with his drunk mother who didn’t give a damn what her husband did to him.
But, lately, he had been covering up his self-loathing. Lying through his teeth. Saying everything was fine and dandy when, in reality, they were getting worse.
He had put the paper away before she could read anything, at least, so he hoped. He had answered, “Nothing. Just doodling.”
She didn’t believe it; he saw it in her eyes. But he pled silently with her to not say anything or make him read the note to the class.
She gave him a slight, sad nod and walked back to her desk.
Maybe she knew. Maybe she knew about what he was planning, but she knew she couldn’t stop him.
Either way, he mentioned her in his note. Put in a good word for her.
He had tacked the note up, on the bedpost facing the door.
It was going to happen. Tonight. Tonight would be the end of a long 17 years of pain.
Despite all the smiles and the laughs and the encouragement he got from his Tumblr friends and followers, he was leaving. They would be sad, but they would move on. He was insignificant. Worthless. They would not miss him for too long.
He pulled the trigger.
click.
He had just loaded it and the safety was off… what the hell?
click.
Come on! There were tears forming in his eyes now. Maybe this was a bad idea…
click.
Maybe he should try some other way… maybe he should just leave… he could continue living. Maybe Mrs. Hill would adopt him or something and he could get out of this hell.
click.
This was so bad… he could get help. The tears streamed down his face like rivulets.
clickclickclick.
It’s a sign. He should drop the gun now, never touch it again-
BANG!
Oh… there it goes.
The last thing he saw was his mother stumbling in and screaming.
Then… nothing.
