we--

7

"well why don't you just shoot yourself?"

     A deep breath drawn into my lungs as a cold shiver passes through me, slithering up my spine.  My fingertips running along the side of the smooth silver and i closed my eyes.  I had practiced a million times, if not more.  I knew exactly how it should, no: how it would go.  The way that i envisioned this... ever so tragic night.
This was it, i had finally been given the "okay" by numerous amounts of people and i would go through with it this time. 

   Submerged in repose, i readied myself.  Laying out the many sheets of parchment i had filled with pointless scribbles, i noticed my hands trembling.
 No, you cant be scared; you have to do this, it's your ticket out of this shit hole.

Quickly drawing my hands back from ink and tear stained pages, i snatch my phone up from it's place on the floor. With shaky fingers, i plug three important numbers into the device and set it down next to a picture of my family.  I place two fingers over myself in the image, trying to picture them without me, i decide that they would be okay... content.   I pull the sheet tighter over my bed, i promised -at least- to leave my parents the smallest amount of mess possible.  
 You worthless, ignorant, dumb-fuck: you are about to scatter blood and brains everywhere, the least of your worries should be a straightened room.  

Finally, everything is set just how i pictured it. Letters neatly stacked upon the desk placed meticulously next to school books, wailing to be returned to their shelves. Clothing, folded and put away with care.  Blankets pulled taught over a twin sized bed and carpets vacuumed, not the slightest sign of cat hair adorning the fabric.  No one to interrupt me, at last it can be over. 
Stop stalling! Just complete the task.

I calm my breathing, focusing solely on each inhale I take in to feed my brain its last meal.  Knowledge is to be lost, expelled from the brains of a dead girl.  I close my eyes, pressing the circular piece of metal to my temple I take the safety off.  I set a smile on my face, close my eyes, and... the deed is done.  
At last, freedom.    

With a thud, my limp body hit the ground.  Elevator music filled the -noiseless- negative space around me and there was: serenity.  A sense of calm while the blast of a gunshot continued to pulsate in the ears of those within one-hundred miles.  Anxiety levels, raised from the serene music playing from up the staircase, second door on the left. Foot-steps pounding at the stairs, rising at a constant rate.  Crashing into the wall behind, the door splintered after being thrown open in a panic.  The elevator music stopped. Everything stopped.  A woman dropped to her knees, jaw open in agony but no noise would exit her trembling body.  A little girl walked in, squawking at her mother to identify the wretched noise.  Then, she too stopped.  Pale blue eyes surveying the new curtains, vermilion.  What used to be the color of beauty, now representing suffering and anguish.  Slowly her lips parted, a wail escaped her body.  A battle cry, to not be in mourning and to suppress the memory of death.  
Yet, no one heard this sound, for it was silenced by the white noise of the minds around.  The ignorant that never realized how much power words can hold.  Beings that take life itself as an enormous joke, booing at those not fearful of the consequences when pain is shown externally. Poking fun at pain and weakness.  Hoping to tear open the door to a soul wrapped up in a blanket, kept safe: just to have fun.  To "strengthen" the weaklings and to "lighten up" the bipolar and depressed.  This life, one colossal prank... until the last breath is taken.  A decision made  by a delicate hand unto others, and harsh unto oneself.  

And once death has been met by barrel of a gun, a rope, bottles of multi-colored pills, or loss of a precious liquid -blood-  :  they care once again.  Placing blame on themselves, causing chaos for only they themselves to know of.  Appearing at funerals and viewings. Shaking hands with members of your victims family. 

But it could not be your victim, right?  Never once did you place your hands around the neck of that individual.  You did not press a blade to their wrists, nor did you force pills down their throat.  That trigger was not pulled by your twitchy finger.  Eternally, you are to be haunted  by words you let slip, because your friends found it funny?  Yes, do take pride in your joke because it is one she made sure you will never forget.  

Does someone always have to die 
For others to realize 
Their ignorance should not become them