When I'm down the only thing that could possibly soothe me is flowers.
Flowers.
So beautiful, so bright, so colorful.
The only thing that shows me the quality of life.
I keep staring at those magnificent flowers as they dance in the wind.
As the bright yellow bees settle on them, sucking the hell out of their pollen but the flowers remain calm in the beauty of nature.
I keep staring but then I hear the bloody sound of people, then I turn away, my face so cold, and I return to my "normal" state.
The state of depression.
I visit the beautiful garden every day but never in the fall or winter.
That's when my little friends enter the phase of eternal slumber, which is best know as "death".
It breaks my heart.
I forgot, I didn't have a heart.
I never did. Why? Why do those extraordinary and harmless little creatures to die?
They do not have any of us human's fucking abilities to harm people.
But they still die. Everything dies.
But I died many times.
I die everyday.
I laugh and tell jokes but deep inside, I am already dead.
I just try to make things better. Things never get better.
Not for me anyways.
Reality is cruel. It fucking hurts but you can't change it.
It is what it is.
It's summer and I am writing this as I stare at flowers, my precious flowers.
They're starting to wither.
Their season is almost over and their hell is about to begin.
My hell has already begun.
YOU ARE READING
The suicide note
Short StoryAn anonymous letter was found at the house of Cedric Kerkoff, a 27 year old math teacher. He reported that incident to the police. The authorities proclaimed that it was clearly a suicide letter . Its author sneaked into the house while the teacher...
