The Final Thoughts of Felix Monroe

What He Thought

 I feel as if I’m falling. But really I’m just on top of a high bridge. The air brushes forcefully on my pale skin. This is what was meant to happen. It feels like sky-diving. Granted I’ve never been sky-diving. I’m sure this is what it would feel like.

The thought of dying has been going through my head for a few months now. But it hasn’t gotten to the pit of my stomach yet. That’s when I’ll do it. All I do now, is wait for it to happen. It’s only the inevitable. But that’s how it is. My fate is all I have. I can feel the sadness rise from my gut, and I know it will happen soon. I scratch at my arms. The bumpy white things that I have bestowed upon myself. It hurts.

Don’t do that. I tell myself. But of course that will never work. Although it won’t really matter after tonight. When I think about dying, I don’t like it. I try and imagine what my future will be if I don’t do it. But now as I try and do the same thing as I’ve always done, I fail miserably. Sometimes I see myself with my future wife, making breakfast with our children. And sometimes I see myself, old and withered, rotting away in a dusty old chair that I don’t want to throw away, because it holds dear to me, many memories of family game nights and reruns of old 90’s television shows. But now, as I urge myself to think of those things, I can’t. I simply can’t. All I see is the darkness of what is only coming a minute away.

I can’t turn away now. Time to go. Step on the ledge. Left foot, UP. Right foot, UP. Okay. My stomach feels heavy. Now’s my chance. Do it. Or don’t. My ankle shakes.

Is this what I’m meant to do?  My name is Felix Monroe. I am 17 years old. I have straight A’s in school. I have a okay home life. School could be fun if I was more normal. I’m not. Normal, I mean. I have only the teachers as friends. My favorite teacher is Mrs. Majors. She teaches the creative writing elective at my school. Not a lot of people have joined. I sit with her at lunch. I don’t talk much, but I listen. And I hear that apparently “nobody likes Mrs. Majors” and “Mrs. Majors is so annoying.” I guess I’m the only one who likes her. We have mutual interests, that’s probably why we get along so well.

But now as the wind almost pushes me backwards, those things don’t matter. I am one with the wind. I must follow it all the way to the bottom. And here I go. My left foot inches forward on the ledge.

I wrote Mrs. Majors a letter. I’ve left it on my messy desk for my dad to read. He won’t care that I’m dead. But he’ll care enough to give Mrs. Majors the letter. When she reads it, I hope she forgives me for this. I hope she doesn’t feel bad. But I hope the most, that she won’t spread the news.

I have headphones in my ears. They play my favorite song right now. It’s been on replay for the past hour that I’ve been standing on this bridge. It plays Fear and Loathing by Marina & the Diamonds. It’s a sad song. But I love it.

I stop the song, and take the headphones out. Now is my time. My phone crashes to the ground. I thought the tears were from the song. But they aren’t. I’m leaving this world for good. It’s permanent. I’m not coming back.

I think about all the reasons why I’m doing this. It’s hard. But I have to do it. There are so many. For one, my only friend is a creative writing teacher. But, there are others. Alexander Ford, for example: I used to best friends with him. Then I told him a secret that I had never told anyone before. About my self harm. He laughed in my face and said, “You’re freaking lying. Nobody smart would do that to themselves. If you do that then seriously dude, I’m done being friends with you.”