AN: Ha it's sort of ironic because this is like, a prequel. But for FORD it's the end. Trigger warning for suicide.
I discussed this a LOT with @Ravenclaw-at-heart and @yesburnthechild, and I've decided that Ford overdoses on hydrogen peroxide. However, since there's apparently a lot of nasty side-effects before the consumer ACTUALLY dies, we thought that maybe Ford would add something else to the bottle to kill him before all that effects him.
We're just authors, we swear.
"Hey, get popcorn, won't ya?"
"Ok..." Ford responded. He folded his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with the folded-up sheet of paper, and made his way to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and exhaled slowly, looking at himself in the mirror.
Bags under his eyes. Not the usual 'stayed up late reading and didn't get enough sleep' kind of bags. The ones that came from countless nights of laying awake at night, unable to sleep from dreading school the next day.
He seemed thin, too. What could he say? He just didn't feel hungry. And when everything tasted almost the same? Well, he really didn't want to eat, then.
"Alright," he breathed. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, rereading it over one last time.
Dear friends and family,
By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) be long gone. I'm sorry for any inconveniences I cause you, but I just don't feel like continuing.
School is- was- stressing me out. Not the classes, no. But rather, the people. Students. Others. There's multiple culprits, but the main one is Crampelter. I just can't deal with him anymore. The taunts and physical violence on my sexuality and my deformity... they've just gone too far. I still have the bruises from months of bullying. And even home caused anxiety... Stan will understand. I know he will. Well, I won't have to worry about either of them anymore...
And now, I suppose I should deal out what used to be my belongings. That's how it works, correct? Anyways...
Stanley. First of all, please don't think that this is in anyway your fault. You were an amazing brother. So to you I give my prized collection of deformed jelly beans, along with all my maps. Astrological, geographical- all of them. Perhaps you would enjoy them. Or not. Just please keep them safe.
The rest of my books that haven't been donated to the school are to be split up between Bella and Fiddleford. They can choose whichever ones they want. I hope they enjoy them.
Bella. You were one of the best friends I could ask for. And for that, you may have all of my sketchbooks and journals. Perhaps you could learn from them. Take the stories my journals tell, the legends they recount, the designs my sketchbooks contain, and write to your heart's desire.
And Fiddleford. Wow, what to even say? You were... you were amazing. THE best friend I ever had. And it's... it's silly, probably- silly, even, that I'm revealing this now, when I'm already gone- but... I think I had a CRUSH on you. Or... maybe not. I've never been the best with romance. What even constitutes a crush? Oh, I'm getting off topic... To you I leave all my science and scientists posters. And perhaps, the knowledge that you could always bring a smile to my face? You'll enjoy those.
And with that, with all my belongings divvied up between all my friends, I supposed I only need to say goodbye.
With Regards,
Stanford Pines
"Perfect," Ford murmured. He took a deep breath, pinned the note to the mirror, and pulled a bottle from the medicine cabinet. He looked at it and raised it to his lips before slamming it back down on the counter.
"Gah! What's wrong with you, Stanford?" He hissed, staring at himself in the mirror. "Come on. Just one gulp and it's all over. No more people yelling faggot, yelling freak, no more Crampelter..." His thoughts drifted to his brother. "No more Stanley..." His face became hard. "No. The negatives outweigh the positives. I can't spend another day dealing with those people and those words..." Tears slipped down his face. "I can't."
He looked at the bottle in his hand- his freakish, deformed hand- once again. He exhaled and shook his head.
"Come on, Stanford. It's... it's just like drinking warm milk to help you fall asleep," he murmured. "Yeah, that's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Heck, it'll work quicker than that! ...hopefully." He read over the ingredients on the back of the bottle. "I hope I calculated correctly. I really don't want all those side effects... just the one."
And with that, he knocked the bottle back and gulped. As soon as it left his lips, he felt sick. Oh yeah, it was working. Ford looked at himself in the mirror, and as he saw himself turning colors and felt himself blacking out, he had one thought.
I don't want to die.
