I died. It wasn't long, or painful, or even beautiful. It was death. A bright flash of light and then nothing.
But then I refocused. The familiar edges of my bedroom coming back. The patter of my mom´s dainty footsteps racing down the halls came next. She ripped open the door and saw me. Her eyes filled with tears.
¨Mom, it´s okay. I tried to... never mind.¨ I fought to say without letting out a rush of tears, once again trying to hide my feelings so as not to be a burden on my parents. Mom´s eyes got glassy, and the tears began to pour down her cheeks.
My lifeless body laid on my bedroom floor. Blood oozing out of a bullet wound I had put in the back of my head onto the aged carpet on my bedroom floor. I felt a rock drop into my stomach. Why had I gone through with it? My life was perfectly stable. I had loving parents, a large group of supportive friends, and a social life that would make any Mean Girls character cry, but I still did it. The heavy clomping of my dad's workboots stomped down the hallway.
He walked in the already open door, and spotted my body. His thin almond eyes widened, "Naila?" he whispered, "Why?" He quietly stepped closer and began to hold my mom. Tears silently began to roll down his cheeks. They began to hiccup cry in unison.
"How could I do this?" I bawled, "Why would I do this?" My heart began to ache for my parents, but then I realized. I got what I wanted, a shrp clean end to a life I didn't want. My eyes dried, and I strided out the front door of my old home, pretending to be oblivious to my parents' sobs.
