•Short Stories•

give me death!

If I can't feel comfortable in my own skin then what's the point of living, I'm stuck in it forever and can't get out. But wait, maybe there is a way out.

Death.

I go to school as normal. Nothing new. Cold winter air freezes the halls, goosebumps run down my back. First hour is quiet. How strange? The day goes by quicker than normal. And in a blink of an eye I am in seventh hour. The school is so old that the heater is broken. The only thing keeping us warm is our body heat and our piled on sweaters.
Dr.******* told me I couldn't generate enough body heat to keep me alive during this winter if I keep up when I'm doing but I didn't listen. Now my hands are ice and my feet are dead. The bell rings. I head out into the halls where It's so cold it's harder to breathe. I let go of my breath and a cloud of smoke forms. Instead of going into eighth hour I dip into a nearby janitors closet. I don't think it has been used since the school first opened. I flip the light switch and sit on a upside down bucket throwing my stuff on top of the sink that is to the left of me.
A bottle of bleach is sitting at My feet. Maybe this time it will work. I chug like there is no tomorrow not caring about my burning throat or the tears escaping my eyes. I cough and I gag as I fall to the floor.

I wake up in the hospital. I feel drowsy and empty. I lift the gown And there it is. A scar. Right next to the other three.