The Fall

Shaking. Shaking with fear. I am scared, about to swallow a bullet. How did I get here, you may ask. Alone in my bedroom, the barrel of my mother’s pistol between my teeth. Well, I can tell you something I’ve never told any other living soul- I’ve been planning this for months.

    I woke up this morning, dreading the day to come. Every day is boring. Exactly the same. I put on a light gray sweatshirt, pulled on a pair of faded jeans and some old sneakers. I walked down the hallway, grabbing my backpack as I left. I head out the door without bothering to make breakfast. Every day’s the same.

    My mom wasn’t home when I woke up. She never is. Ever since my father left us, Mom’s been leaving early for work and coming home late. Really late. It’s just her and me. But mostly me. All alone. I hate being alone. Every day’s the same.

    I got to school and waited in my seat for the bell. Waiting is something I do best. Something I have a lot of practice with. Anticipating for something to happen. Nothing. I went to my first four classes, had the usual, boring as hell lunch, then my last three classes. Every day’s the same.

    The bell rang- my que to ditch this place. I began walking home. I felt as if the world was all in black and white. No beauty, just same old same old. People will rush past me on sidewalks and in the hallways at school, never acknowledging my existence. What’s the point? No one cares, why should I? Every day’s the same.

    What is the point? Everyone is too busy to notice me, my suffering, my cry out for help. Even my mother. Especially my mother. As her only child, you’d think she’d devote more time to me. But no. She’ll never understand. Why do I keep going on? This is pointless. Life is pointless. I’d be better off dead.

    I reached the house and unlocked the door. This is it. Today’s the day. I had my note ready for months, even though it’s not that long. Just a short paragraph explaining what I am about to do. I went to my room and shut the door. How am I to pull this off?

    Then I remembered- my mom kept a gun in a box on the top shelf of her closet. How cliche. I strolled into her room and swiftfully swung the doors of the closet open. There it was, a shoe box secured with duct tape.

    I extended my hands, shaking. I started to feel nervous, afraid, but it had to be done. I am a burden on the world. I took the box into my room and set it on my bed. I, then, raided my sock drawer for my note. Once it was in hand, I pocketed it and proceeded to the shoe box containing the gun. I ripped at the duct tape that bound the box and its lid.

    I pulled off the lid, and there it was staring up at me. I felt sick. I started to cry as the eerie chill of death consumed me. Both hands gripping the gun, I pulled the gun to my mouth and opened. Tears were streaming down my face at this point. I heard a voice in my head. “Do it.” “No one cares.” “It’ll be better for everyone if you were gone.” This is where I am now.

    Paralyzed with fear, I am a wet wreck now. My eyes are closed tighter than ever. My are clenched on the barrel of the gun. I guess this is goodbye. Slowly, I pull the trigger.

Click. No bullet emerges. I open my eyes, still alive. What? It's not loaded? I should’ve known Mom was smart enough to keep gun and ammo separate. Of coarse. Well, now how will I finish the task? I could hang myself. That’ll do the trick.

A little less calm than the first attempt, I begin down the hall to the stairs. It’s dark,silent and unnerving in the basement. I’ve never liked it down here. There’s a disgusting odor- like something is rotting. I really hate it down here.

A rope and chair is all I need. Where? Luckily, I found what I needed. I begin to fold the chair, when I hear a noise. I can feel chills up my spine. I should really hurry out of here. I’m now running up the stairs, dragging the rope and chair behind me. I hate the basement.

Here I am again. I stumble into my room. I pop out the folding chair and sit, with the rope in hand. With every loop came another word from the voice in my head.”Just die.” “You’re worthless.” “An utter disappointment.”

I finish the noose and stand up on the chair to secure the rope to my ceiling fan. I decide to look out my window while I’m up here. To say goodbye to the black and white world one last time. It begins to sprinkle. I put the noose over my my head and around my neck. I step off the folding chair.

Snap!

My butt hits the hard floor with a thud and the back of my head smacks on the chair. I look up to see that the rope split in two. I don’t believe it. Slowly, I stand up rubbing the back of my neck and the bruise on my bottom.

Why isn’t it working? Why is it so hard to die? I’m again- not from sadness, but through anger. I’m so agitated. Frustrated. I just want to be dead is that too much to ask?

I flee from my room and exit the house. Did I even close the door? Doesn’t matter. It’s raining. I’m running. My face is hot, my hands are sweaty, and my feet are numb. I’m wet all over; from the cold rain and hot tears. I’m all out of breath, so I slow down.

I’m walking now with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, hood up, staring at the ground. How could I have messed up so badly? I look around. People are walking around carrying umbrella’s, oblivious to me. People are carelessly walking home from work in the black and white rain. I wish I could see the beauty of the blue rain and the red-orange leaves and the green grass as they did. Every day’s the same.

I break my concentration of the concrete and look up. The streets are now empty. In front of me stands a large, abandoned apartment building. Perfect. I look around to make sure nobody’s watching and casually walk past the old wire fence. Quickly, I pry the boards off the door. Leaves and rain water thrown across the floor. Dust starts blowing around from the wind and bugs are scattering away from the light.

I’m in the lobby. It’s fairly dark and I’m scared. There’s a sign on the elevator that reads: OUT OF ORDER. To the side of the elevator are some stairs. That’ll work. I begin walking up, thinking to myself. There’s no way you could screw this up. The sound of my feet making contact with each step is oddly soothing. A sloshing sound.

About four or five flights up now and I’m panting in the doorway to the roof. Finally. Before I go into the rain to die, I reach into my pocket. I almost forgot about my note I pull it out. It’s smeared, wet, and wrinkled, but still legible.

I put the note back, walking out into the rain. I stepped up on the ledge of the building, though I was starting to see color. Do I really want to die?

“Of coarse!”

Maybe these failures are just signs to keep living…

“Nonsense! You need to die. You deserve to die.”

I’m not so sure anymore…

“We’ve been planning this for months! Just die!”

No.

“Jump! Now!”

No!

As I’m thinking things over, I don’t think I’m ready to die. I’m too young. Life is a beautiful thing that I can’t let go of. The sky is a lovely shade of purple. I must stay strong. I step down from the ledge and turned around. I wait by the ledge for the voice to fight back. Silence. It stopped. I’m free.

Suddenly, I feel a strong, invisible force push at the middle of my chest. I fall to my death. There’s no way I could screw it up this time...