The Post-It List

Social Suicide

Davids POV

I frown, screaming silently, cursing under my breath. I guess you can figure that today sucked. Well, after lunch it sucked. Quietly, I run my hand through my dirty blond hair, trying not to cause attention to myself. It appears that every move I make could be my last. Silently, I make a ninja move and walk down the street. My sister, Tilly, was walking her poodle , Milly, down the street. She stared at me with wide hazel eyes as I randomly did my ninja kick. Out of the blue, when our paths crossed, Milly started snapping and growling. She was a rabid beast. That poodle is on my list.

"Geez Till! Control your animal!" I muttered, patting down her frizzy aunurn hair, "And go home!"

"Mommy daddy fight, Davieeee." the way she slurred my name was an instant reminder of my parents. 

They have been fighting for the past three months and it is killing Tilly. She is only five and breaks into sobs if she steps on a daisy. My parents believe in 'We are all family, whatever rating you choose to listen to is up to you.' Tilly stared up at me, and I could clearly see the scratch marks on her face. Dad got to her. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"Tilly, what did dad do to you?" I pronounced every word with complete clarity and concern. Her dog went silent as a police man went by, sirens on. He pulled up to the curb of the old sidewalk, rolling his window down. Tilly clutched my legs.

"Hey Kids." He said. Why was he so nonchalant? 

"G'day officer. Is there a problem?" I asked, being an adult.

"STRANGER DANGER!" Tilly screeched, shutting her eyes tightly. Her nails dug into my skin. When I said Ouch, she let go.

"Sorry, officer. Is there a problem?"

"What is wrong with her cheek?" he questioned sternly.

I gulped. I could rat my dad out and die, or say the dog did it. But technically, I don't know. "Yeah, Till. What happened?" I immediatly felt awful for putting a two million ton weight on her shoulder. She lifted her head, eyes wider than normal. 

"I--I--My Dad--" she froze. Just like hers, my eyes grew a million sizes. We stared at eachother, and the cop coughed.

"Where is you kids house?" I stifled a chuckle, and pity came out. He tries to hard to be a cop. 

"148 Ekkwood." We were on that very street, and the word MORON creeped into my mind. He sighed, and then had a look of suspiscion on his chunky face. Nervously, he rubbed his bald head. Tilly began to cry.

"We got a domestic disturbence call from your neighbors. They report of screaming and one person claims to have heard a gun shot." 

Through gritted teeth, I growled, "Watch her." 

Tilly sheepishly said hello to the officer and he yelled after me. But I ran. A gunshot rang in my ears. My mother screamed very loudly. When I could see my house in view, I saw a crowd forming. The creepy guy who lives down my street was taking bets and the old lady next to us was fearing for her life. 

Suddenly, I felt stupid. I felt I let down people. And if I go in there, I could die. As I skidded to a stop, I recalled everything that I regret. 

I regret pulling pranks.

I regret being the school bully for a year.

I regret dating Leah Mycheals.

I regret standing up for what I believe.

I regret not killing myself.

No. I take that back. All but one I do not regret. Because at one point I wanted it. Except, I didn't want to not commint suicide. I wanted it. I needed it. To me, suicide was the only answer. I wasn't happy. I am still not.  But there was one thing that saved me. My sister. When Tilly saw my wrists a year ago, and how she saw the blood. She did not scream, or cry. She just came up to me, stomped her foot on mine and said, "No." And the firmness of her voice made me stop. The authority she had, even for a five year old. I had stared at her, and for the first time in years I bropke down and cried. But I cried like a man. A real girly man. . . 

I looked down at the sidewalk, and I heard Tilly cry my name. Aimlessly, I stared back at her, mouthing, 'I love you,' and running through the crowd. 

I am gonna die for a little girl.