I stared at my wrist fascinated by the trail of blood that curled around it. The pain I should've been feeling didn't come. Instead I smiled a slow smile as the high kicked in. I watched as a fat red drop rolled around and then down to the floor. Oh that'd make a mess but what did I care? Then I started giggling hysterically. Everything was funny. The blood seeping from my opened wrist, the bloody blade on the bed beside me, and the twenty missed calls that read on my phone. They'd be too late this time.
Suddenly I got the urge to wite. Yes of course I would write a letter. Ah but my wrists would smudge the paper. Then I saw my old cassette recoding machine in my closet. Why write a note when you could leave behind a legacy in tapes?
I stumbled and tripped into my closet feeling the affect of the snack of pills I'd taken earlier. I swiped down the machine and giggled as it clanged to the floor. I shushed it then giggled at myself for doing so. I slapped a tape into it and slammed myself onto the floor by my bed no longer caring if I woke up anyone. Not that they'd be all too concerned about my goings on.
"Heeeeeeellloooo," I said into the mic, "this is Arista Flain speeeeaking to yoooou. Guess what. I'm dead if you're hearing this," I giggled inappropriately at myself, " Oh but that isn't the only reason."
I stopped as I heard heavy footsteps. I listened to the stop at my door briefly then continue to the kitchen. My step dad Brian no doubt. I stayed quiet til he passed by again and again stopped by the door briefly. Thank god it wasn't a visiting night. I wasn't sure how he'd have handled this situation.
"If you're hearing this then you did this to me," I said suddenly sober.
