Endings

Pills

                My name is Henry Varelidi. I am sixteen years of age, five and a half feet tall, and about one hundred and fifty pounds. I have a loving mother and father, and sisters who adore me unconditionally. I have a well paying job for my age, plenty of money in my bank account, a nice car, good health and hygiene, brown hair and green eyes. I’m also dead.

                Let me explain, about four months ago I took my own life, taking an entire liter bottle of ibuprofen at once and sleeping well over a day. My case took ten seconds, I wrote a letter to my parents about what had happened to me. Every reason.

                To Whom it May Concern,

                I wasn’t even sure they’d care. The letter was written like a stranger would write it….

                I have left for you an unpleasant surprise, but tried to spare you a messy one. To ensure complete ease of removal of the bio-waste within the household, an entire bottle of ibuprofen, laying by the bedside table, was ingested at once. The waste was then laid within the covers and pulled over the head, to save you any sort of mental scaring unless one should choose to pull the blanket.

                The rest I remembered, but only in the simplest ways.  I dated a girl I liked a lot. We happened to have many similar friends. Then I found out, only a few months later, that I didn’t really love her… I only thought I did. When I ended it with her, calmly, easily, and in person, she cried. But, as we were good friends still, we hugged, and it was to end there. No hostilities like all the rest of my previous relationship endings.

                I forgot who our friends were. They wouldn’t let it rest, bringing anything related to it at all up and shoving it in my face. Before I knew it, there were a hundred people who would shun me within the forgiving halls of school, and more still would only have hate in the voices when talking to me. She tried, my ex love, and I appreciate her trying to save me. But It wasn’t enough, I couldn’t take it anymore.

                I ended it. The waste of life I was. I thought it would be painless, which it was, and a perfect ending.

                Turns out I was wrong again.

                There is a special place for those who take their life in the after realm. Some would call it purgatory, I call it existence. Real existence. I have no choice but to watch what my choice has done to everyone. And I, only now, know the real weight I carried.

                My mother, bless her soul, she can’t hold down a job anymore. Her life is a cesspool of pain with her eldest child and only son dead from suicide. Her smile never comes anymore, and I can see into her soul, and see the gashes I left in it. Gashes so deep, even death wouldn’t repair her in the least. I regret what I did to her the most, seeing the truest death possible reflected in her eyes day in and out.

                My sisters are, too horrible to discuss. While I regret my mother the most, I know that my sisters hurt the most. To feel their pain is to feel the pain of a dying world. The images…

                My ex lover felt no pain anymore. She has a new boyfriend, the one I wanted her to have. One who was really for her, the best. He was everything I couldn’t be, everything I thought she needed. And she did too, I knew because she said it often, while I was around without her knowing. She is truly in love now, not the infatuation she had with me. And she doesn’t even remember me, or the pain she felt, or anything. All she can see or feel is his love.

                It was she, the one my ex lover confided in, that I visit the most. She who started rumors and the pain, made it an issue. She… she feels joy. She feels the party, the pleasure at knowing she broke me in the end. She feels the very spirit of one who had won a gold medal at the Olympics.. no… five of them. That was her pride. Every fiber of her being knew how much pain she caused me, every molecule of water in her body rippled with my death in ways that tickled her into laughter. She perhaps felt guilt that I had died in the end. Perhaps. But the very fact that my pain lead me to that end, that she knows, and enjoys. I won’t understand it, but perhaps she does feel guilt beneath the surface. I’ll never know, I try to stay away from her the most.

                Every day I have to watch what I did. My friends forgot me, my ex lovers no longer needed me. And the ones who were hurt couldn’t hate me in the first place, loving me for who I was in life. This is my torment, my suffering in Hell. Every moment, Every thought, Everything that they became is my fault. And I can only watch and know, and suffer more.