"I can't do this anymore." Those were the last words she said to me. Melody was my best friend since kindergarten. I knew that things were getting hard for her, but I had no clue how to help her. I guess in a way she helped herself. Melody was a complicated girl who buried her feelings deep, but this past week she was really struggling to hold it all in. She held everything in until she exploded. Just two days ago she was texting me, "I'm sorry." She said that over and over again. This was concerning to me. I drove to her house afraid of what I would see. I opened her door and ran in. I heard someone crying and repeatedly saying "one more time." I slowly approached the door to find blood everywhere. Her white tile was soon stained with red. That was my last memory of Melody. She was curled up crying with a blade to her wrist she whispered "one more time." That was the end. I held her screaming. Nervous I dialed 911. Her quiet house was now busy with emergency responders and frantic neighbors. That was it, the end of my life and Melody's.
