Suicide Short Stories

Twisted Picture

Aspyn has a favorite quote that everyone else thinks is too morbid for a happy girl like her.
The quote goes like this ,'She paints a pretty picture, but this story has a twist. Her brush is her razor and her canvas is her wrist.'
When people look at Aspyn all they see is the happy smiling mask she puts up. They can't tell that every night when she gets home from school she checks on her drunken mother to make sure she didn't drink herself to death. Once she's reassured her mother is okay she goes to the bathroom and opens the medicine cabinet.
She grabs her razor out and removes the blades from the plastic casing. Sliding the sharp edge of the razor over new scars, old scars, already bleeding cuts, she finds a refuge from her own thoughts.
Sometimes she thinks about grabbing another thing from the cabinet. How easy would it be to just end it all painlessly? Fading into oblivion. But she never grabs the pills because of the hope that her mother will someday care enough to stop drinking herself into a comatose state every day. It's been years since Aspyn has had someone care about her and those years have taken a toll. She's ready to make this year the last.
Today is a day no different than the rest. She checks her mother and locks the bathroom door. She grabs out her razor and smiles at the blood that begins sliding in droplets onto the floor from the deep red cuts on her thighs. She sits in silence and keeps cutting until the stinging is almost unbearable. She puts the razor back and begins to mop up the blood that has fallen all over the floor.
Today she didn't have the strength to end it. She never seems to be able to do it even though she knows it's time. Maybe it's the thought that her mother won't have anyone checking on her even though her mother has never learned that Aspyn still loves her and wants the old mother back that cared about everyone.
It could be the fear of death even though she doesn't think she's scared to die. She's so ready to die it's not funny anymore.
The jokes they say. The popular girl that studies and gets straight A's and never goes to parties because she doesn't want to end up like her mom. The endless teasing she gets from the only people close enough to call friends when relatives try to act like they give a fuck.
She decides that tomorrow will be the day. She'll empty her locker so the principal has one less problem and so her mother doesn't have to feel the burden Aspyn has lived with for years. She'll get home and grab her razor. She'll swallow the rest of her mom's old surgery pills and fall into a deep sleep and never wake up again.
She goes to bed knowing that tonight will be her last night alone.

She wakes up. She gets through another day of torment and rushes home to be done with everything. To forget every mean word.
Drawing the blade from elbow to wrist, she keeps cutting over and over. Soon there's very little skin left that isn't already marred with scars. She grabs the pills with shaking hands and swallows the small white pain relievers one by one.
She sits on the floor in a pool of her blood and starts to lose consciousness. Before she can go out she slides the razor across her jugular for good measure. Everything fades and she slumps over heart beat slowing, until finally it stops.
This is the last day Aspyn will ever have to suffer through. She's gone from this cruel world and on her way to somewhere where she can be happy. Death was the answer in this twisted picture.