Letters To Suicidal

t w o

"Dear Suicidal,

This isn't something I find - or do - on a daily basis now. I don't know what took over me, I don't know what happened, but if you're reading this now, dear Suicidal, you should know that I felt the will to give you a response. This bag only has limited space and I'm rambling, so I'll be straight to the point. You're brave. You're so much more than you think you are. If you're brave enough to tell a random person on the street half of your life, then you should know that you can get a job, pay your rent, get a new home, learn, and dream higher. You're a wonderful person. I don't want the world to be rid of another one of them. No one deserves to go through what you're going through right now.

I want to help you.

You may not be so alone as you think. I grew up without parents too. I'm most likely poor, and I'm sure I'm an orphan, but I manage to smile everyday right? Right. And I want to help you smile too. If I were right beside you, I would stretch my arms out and bring my hands to your mouth, pulling it up just to see that smile. You're brave, amazing, you're a dreamer.

You shouldn't be Suicidal.

You deserve be happy, content, and loved.

- Kyler"

The hazel nut eyed girl blinked. A foggy breath escaped her lips as she thought of one thing: a reply. Eumee's hands creased the corner of the wrapper as her chapped lips parted slightly. Her brows pulled together in confusion, Who would reply to a suicidal letter? The cold October air seeped through her thin clothes and stung her skin and the bright sun colored her pale features.

Eumee's life had been hell, from her birth to her high school life. She was never a bubbly kind of girl, she was quiet and kept to herself. She was the kind of girl who cried herself to sleep in an apartment she could hardly pay for. She was the kind of girl who would square her shoulders, hug her knees, hide her face with her hair. She was hardworking, focused and doesn't listen to the world around her.

She pulled her hair to the side with her fingers brushing along the words. Her heart had raced fast as she sat down on the brick wall, her legs swinging. A small - almost invisible - smile graced her face. She pulled out a small notebook out of her bag, ripping two pieces of paper off and placing one on the brick wall as she used the notebook as a writing desk for the other.

Eumee Wyatt was known in her school as a loner. She didn't want friends, she didn't want to be touched or talked to. She wanted to be alone to her thoughts. That was what everyone thought.

Eumee had never wanted anything more than to have a friend, someone to tell her secrets to, someone to hold. She'd been through hell and back and she wanted someone who would wait for her on either side to give her advice.

A minimum wage job for a new and old apartment was enough, Eumee thought as she scribbled words down the piece of carbon paper. She knew that she would have hung herself if she didn't let her emotions out in the first note. So writing a second one would prevent that sad incident even further. Eumee knew what the stranger was doing - he was unconsciously stalling her death.

Another miniscule smile etched on her face as a dim shade of pink grew up her neck and settled on her face.

"Stranger, you know what you're doing?

You're making yourself an outlet for me. You're becoming my rock. Most people would have thought I was crazy and dump my letter to the floor, but you - you didn't. What made you reply to me?

Sweetly, Suicidal"