A Note

Part Two of Two

I look down off the bridge.

I fiddle with my razer, my friend, in my pocket. One more time. For old times sake. It'll help me feel calm.

I grab my phone from my other pocket. It's almost dead. Just enough battery for a short phone call.

That's all I'll need.

I call Mark as I get ready to slice my wrist. I don't need to do both, just the one is fine. Doesn't really matter.

He answers.

"Hey Jack. It's kinda late, 2 a.m. actually. What're you doing up?"

I'm silent. This isn't for me. It's closure for him. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve anything.

I slit my left wrist, quickly and deeply.

I mutter a sound. A wimper.

"Seán?"

My voice trembles.

"Mark. I love you. Please remember that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Hey, just calm down, okay? I'll be over in about ten minuets."

"Don't bother. It'll be done by then."

"What do you mean done? Oh, oh god, Sean, listen to me, don't-"

"I love you. I'm sorry, Markimoo."

"SEÁN-"

I watch the phone fall out of my hand and off the bridge, as it shatters on the busy concrete path below me.
Shattered, like my emotions, my soul, my life. Like my body, in a moment.

I listen to the buzz of the cars below.
It reminds me how many people are really out there. I don't matter.

I hold my razer in my right hand, squeezing tightly.
Blood drips from my hand as blood pours from my opposite wrist.

I softly hum the bittersweet tune, as I balance on my feet, ready to fall.
I feel faint from bloodloss. This is it.
Tears flow down my cheeks, and I sing the last words quietly aloud.

Happy birthday, to me.

And then,
I fall.