I was surprised at how calm I felt in that moment. You always read about how suicidal people are practically swimming in their tears, hands shaking, scared to death ironically when they have their weapon of choice in their hands. I'll admit I had my doubts, I was scared. That was before I was sitting there in that cold baby blue bathroom sitting right in the Ray of sunshine coming in from the window. Before I put the gun to my head. I thought of my cat, who loved to sleep for hours in this same spot under the sun. I wasn't thinking about life after death as if there is such a thing. Death is the only thing you can be sure about. Your body shuts down one way or another and... you're gone. You don't get to see your family and friends mourn over your tragic death. Or the funeral where everyone says things like "she was such a happy girl. I don't understand why she would do this." Death is like a sentence. You can reread the sentence over and over. Think about it, question it, discuss it, try to solve it. But that period is the end. That little dot marks the finish line of that sentence alone but the reader-the audience, continues on with the memory.
So when I was on my knees, loading the gun, the only thoughts going through my head was my cat sleeping on the white bathroom floor, and who was going to be the first to find my dead body. Who's going to be the first to read my tragic sentence. Bringing the gun up to my head I started humming a song, it was a lullaby my mother sang me to sleep with. Except this time, someone wasn't going to wake up. My hand on the trigger, if my heartbeat was any slower I would be dead already. Little did I know my younger sister Anastasia just walked into the bathroom, she took me by surprise which startled me. Causing my hand to aim at the 4 year olds forehead. The rush of adrenaline make my finger press the trigger. She hit her small head on the white bathroom floor which was soon covered in blood. The floor pooled with blood that should have been mine. But that's it. Dead. A four letter word for the four year old girl. I guess life too, is a sentence. It can be short or long. But it always ends. The now empty life I hold in my hands would be too young to know what was causing our family so much grief if I was on that floor, lifeless. I have never been more scared in my life. This was supposed to end with heartfelt speeches about me and how I was such a sweet girl. But now they whisper about a murder and I'm the one who ended the sentence.
