The End

My End

This is My End.

Would anyone even care? How many unknown faces would gather around my family with empty condolences? Estranged acquaintances emerging to stake claims on My belongings. Facebook posts from family friends flood My page, knowing they'd never be seen.

Calls from work go unanswered, bills go unpaid, and dust collects on empty shelves once filled with My precious books. My Mother calls work to explain My absence, My Father calls the bank to close accounts.

My family mourns, but for how long? Soon, memories fade, photos get put in boxes, and My name doesn't hurt as much when heard. My Sister gets an obscure tattoo in My honour but becomes lost in a collection of meaningless images. My Brother begins clearing out My house, tucking away any items worth selling. As for My Parents? Would they miss an imperfect daughter? The pain will subside, their love will only grow stronger for My academically successful Sister and Fathers' favourite, My Brother. There was never space for an underachieving emotional burden.

That is My End. Isn't it? It's not. In reality,

My End causes so much pain.

The heart-wrenching news spreads like a tidal wave of emotions, friends and acquaintances surround My family with heart-felt support as they share memories and stories that will never be forgotten. My dogs get separated and sent to foster homes or pounds, laying on a cold slab of cement inside their cage, crying for their mummy to take them home.

Eventually, the emotions settle, and people begin to leave, but the pain doesn't cease. For years, My mere memory still brings overwhelming sorrow, like stormy waves violently crashing upon a cliff face. Tears pour from My Mothers eyes, days of endless, inconsolable, sobbing, the feeling of emptiness washes over her. My Father, unable to control his own emotions, lashes out, resulting in complete marital collapse. My Sister, wrapped with regret over so many spiteful words and lost opportunities, throws herself into her study, isolating herself and withdrawing into her own deep depression. My Brother tries to hold the family together as it slowly crumbles, gripping so tight his muscles begin to ache as each member pulls further away. The strain wears him down like a piece of string holding a cruise liner to the dock, destined to break.

The lives of many, forever changed, the result of one selfish act.

My End may be the last page of My book, but to so many others, My End is a long, sorrowful chapter too painful to look back upon.

What if this wasn't My End, just An End. An End to one short, poorly written chapter. If every story Ended at the main characters lowest point, there would be alot of very depressing and short books. What would be missed if this was My End.

Meeting My true love and having My Father walk by My side down the aisle. Tears of joy from My Mother. My first house, filled with trinkets, knick knacks, and secret rooms. My first house party. My first child, My second child. Watching My children grow into kind and caring people. Growing old with My Love and travelling the world in retirement. Ending on a high.

This will be,

My End.