Suicide

Mum and Dad

Death held my hand and the next second, I was standing in the downstairs living room.

Mom was sitting in the rocking chair with a blank face, staring at the opposite wall. Dad was pacing the room. His face was white and tear stained.

"Dave," said Mom, in a choked voice. "She's gone."

"I know, honey." He replied. He closed his eyes and a few more tears leaked from beneath his eyelids. "She killed herself."

"But... But why, Dave? Why!?"

"You've read the letter, Chloë." He replied, softly. "She didn't want to live anymore."

"Why!? Did we not give her everything she needed!? Didn't we love her enough?" She broke down. Watching her cry bitterly was very difficult for me.

Dad came and sat down on the floor. He hid his face in his hands and started crying, too. It was unbearable. I had never seen my parents look so weak and vulnerable and helpless.

"We loved her so much and she never realised. I wish she had talked to us... me, at least! And now, she's gone... and... and, oh Dave!"

"Mom!" I cried, helplessly. "Dad! Look at me." I repeated it over and over again till I was choking on my tears. "Please, listen to me!"

"Stop wailing." Said Death, cruelly. "It won't make any difference."

And before I knew it, I was on my feet. I grabbed his collar and slammed him into the wall. Apparently, the only damage done was that my arm hurt.
"This is all your fault!" I snarled.

"My fault!" He scoffed. "Dearest Heather. It's your fault."

I let him go, sat down on the floor and took my face in my hands. "What have I done?" I mumbled.

I closed my eyes and cried silently for a while. Every inch of my being wished that this wasn't true. That this was just a nightmare.

But then, the flashes started. Image after image flashed in front of my eyes. My mom holding me, my first step, dad taking me to school, Jen playing with me, Granny knitting my sweater, my dog licking my cheek, my friends Melanie and Brandon, my favourite teacher Mrs Smith, my phone, books, my toys and other special things I hadn't thought about when I had taken the poison.

"Stop!" I yelled at the images. It was hurting me. My heart ached.

The images stopped. I sighed in relief.

I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them, I was in the hallway instead of the living room.

"Your dog's looking for you." Said Death.

Ripper had searched the whole house, looking for me. Now, he was sitting at the door, waiting for me to return from wherever I had gone. The poor faithful pet did not know that I would never come back...

We both stood there for a while, staring at the white door.

"Why did you do this?" Asked Death, softly.

"I thought that I was friendless. That I wasn't loved. That I wasn't free."

"Wasn't free?" He repeated. "What sort of freedom did you want?"

"Dad said that I couldn't smoke because he found a cigarette in my room... I was an addict... one of the reasons of this depression was the withdrawal. Also, mom told me that I couldn't go to parties because she didn't want me to get drunk..."

He stared at me. "That was your fault, Heather."

"Yeah... I didn't have self control. I wish I had... because, I'm hating this."

His soft expression was replaced by that cruel smile. "Well, Heather. The problem is that this journey continues."