Suicide Box

Chapter 8

A/N: Here we go..

I tried to keep up with my mother, but the pain in my leg and the tears in my eyes prevented that. As I walked through the aisles, each painful step reminded me of the box under my bed and the answer to all the problems. Those tears were pent up tears, I was crying for more than my bruised legs. I was mourning my death.

It was while wandering through the store that I felt a little tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a small girl in her uniform. What I remember most clearly was her big puff and her little frown.

"Little boy," the girl began, "Why are you crying? You shouldn't cry."

I smiled, because she was calling me little boy, and I was so much taller than her. Then I thought of how to answer her question. I didn't really know what to say, and I didn't want to lie.

"Because my hands are ugly." I answered.

She looked confused for a while, but soon answered. "Let me see them."

So I placed my palms in hers, and she giggled. "You have pretty hands. I like them." She poked at the spots and seemed to be enjoying herself.

Confused, I looked at her face to see that she was being sincere. But before I could respond, she continued, "If you don't like them, you can wear this."

And she pulled out a white glove from her pocket and placed it in my hand. "I don't need it any more. But you can keep it."

"I have to go little boy," she finished, "But you should like your pretty hands."