If Life Doesn't Kill You, Emptiness Will.

Awoken

|| A short story based on the relentless situations I put in my head ||

Something doesn't feel quite right. I wake in a cold sweat. I don't move, for fear that if I do, something will definitely go wrong. But something must have already happened. Today just doesn't feel right.

I glance at the far-too-bright alarm clock.

4:10 a.m.

I can't wipe the suspicion out of my head. My phone buzzes. I leave it be. It buzzes again. I turn away. It buzzes over and over again until it suddenly comes to a halt. What could possibly be stirring at four in the morning?

I drag my legs out from under the warmth of the blanket. They're thrown over the edge, forcing me to sit up. I look at my phone, tempted to pick it up. My mind screams at me not to do it, that it won't be anything good. It only makes the urge to pick it up even wider.

I glance away. My room is a mess, how typical. One last look over at my phone and I slide right off the mattress, avoiding the inevitable. I begin to clean up my room, setting clothes into piles, separating lights from darks and towels from clothes in general. I fix my bookshelf and find a journal of mine. Flipping through it, my eyes water, but no tear falls. No sadness, nothing. Just reminiscing on what could have been and reminiscing in the less broken me.

Finally, I've gathered the strength to pick up the device. And as I suspected, everything went wrong. A few messages saying things closely resembling that of... a suicide note? Standing in fear, complete shock and horror, I don't do anything. Maybe it hasn't sunk in, and maybe it never will. The words across the screen read:

I can't do this anymore.
2:37 a.m.

I can't stand this anymore, I don't think this whole "life" thing is working out for me.
2:43 a.m.

I'm sorry if it hurts you, though it probably won't.
2:48 a.m.

I'm so fucking sorry, but I can deal with it all. I can't help anyone, not even myself.
3:05 a.m.

It'll never be enough. I'll never be enough.
3:10 a.m.

Forget about me. I'm not worth it anyways. I'm not worth worrying over. I'll never be worth anything. I'll never amount to anything but hurting others.
3:26 a.m.

I'm sorry. But this is how it ends, my friend. It's better that you're not awake for this, so it won't be as hard to do. I'll be gone and it won't matter. The world will revolve the same, I'll just be another news story that everyone forgets about three days from now. Life doesn't stop here for anyone but me, and why should it? I'm nothing special. But you shouldn't worry about me, okay? You'll be okay, everything will be fine. But this is the end. Short, sweet, and to the point is all I need or it'll hurt too much. Goodbye.
3:57 a.m.

Goddamn, what am I doing?
4:03 a.m.

Right, the world a favor.
4:03 a.m.

What could I ever contribute except pain anyways?
4:04 a.m.

Goodbye.
4:08 a.m.

This is it for me.
4:08 a.m.

This is my last anything.
4:08 a.m.

And there's nothing you could've done to prevent it, so don't worry.
4:09 a.m.

It's what I deserve, it's what I need.
4:09 a.m.

This is my final goodbye.
4:09 a.m.

The notifications from others are blank. Nobody else is awake.

I knew something was wrong, why didn't I trust my gut feeling? Why didn't I check before?

It's all my fault. I probably could've done something. If only I wasn't so selfish.

And now they're gone.

I lay back down, not shielding my shivering body from the cold.

Gone. But what does that mean, exactly?

I fall asleep in the midst of the tear-stained pillows. How was I to face this in the morning?