(A/N - Warning, triggering subjects ahead. Read at your own risk)
Tears blurred my vision.
"Why..? Why Jacob..?" I choke out.
Jacob was the one who was shot that day. That day being yesterday.
Dawn and Cody were finally free and they were in another part of the hospital.
Steven was in a different centre in the hospital, he's recovering well.
Well, according to Nick anyway.
But I haven't had the guts to leave Jacobs side. I've refused the others. I just want Jacob.
I just want him to be alright.
The darkest thoughts which I've shut away for the longest time come flooding back.
About the time when I tried to kill myself.
And the urge getting stronger, more pungent with each heavy breath I take.
What's the point.
Repeating in my head like a stuck record.
What actually is the point?
Why should I even bother?
Nobody cares. Nobody could care.
I'm nothing.
I look back at Jacobs unconscious body. Listening to the beeping of the heart monitor.
I stand up, and storm out. Racing down the hall to the stairs. Hopping from floor to floor until I reach the top.
I walk out. Left foot, right foot, left then right until I get to the edge of the building and look down.
"This is when it all gets better.." I whisper.
"This is where I can get a normal life.."
And I jump. Hitting the ground with a loud crash, thud and groan.
Darkness takes over my vision as I take my last breaths.
**Change of POV - Harvey's POV**
Wandering into my apartment of which I recently began to store Harleys things in. She and I had agreed to be roommates until she could find a place of her own, that was since she busted out of the Mental Hospital.
Closing the door behind me. A white, rectangular object catches my attention. I walk over to the chair it was set up against.
On the front was my name, scribbled messing in Black ink.
"This better not be another note saying as to why I need to get a working dishwasher.."
I unfolded the paper and read the contents.
Dear Harvey,
I'm sorry. By the time you are reading this, I would have found a successful way of ending my meaningless existance.
I’m sorry.
To everyone who believed in me, I apologize profusely.
You didn’t deserve seeing me in turmoil. You didn’t deserve to be affected by my negativity. It hurt me even more, knowing what I put you through. The way you looked at me, afraid, helpless, hopeless. The way I stared back into your eyes, defeated.
Don’t be angry because this was nothing personal. Know that I’m gone because I chose to do so. For once, I finished something I started. For once I was brave enough to go through with something risky and dangerous.
Don’t be disappointed. I didn’t give up, no, on the contrary all I ever wanted was a reason to persevere. All I ever wanted was to really live, but I didn’t know how.
All of you always did (and still do) such an excellent job at living, and I was happy for every one of you. Your lit up, elated smiling faces made me smile, although it broke my heart all at once. I felt bad and guilty because you loved me. I tried numerous times to push you away, to make you un-love me so I could take the plunge quicker. My attempts always failed. Your compassion pained me as much as it consoled me. I often wished that having you in my life, and all the other privileges I had was enough, but I could never find what I was looking for. Perhaps it didn’t even exist.
I believe in a higher entity, but I don’t think he likes me too much. I think he often looks down and cringes, embarrassed that he moulded a mistake. Maybe I’m in hell right now, but you all knew I never believed in hell. The concept was created to keep us on track, and motivate us to do good. What if earth is hell? It sure felt that way.
What if everything we wanted was actually nothing? What if all the things we think are tangible, are actually figments of our imagination? What if life is actually death, and when we die we are truly alive? Wouldn’t that make more sense?
For if this is life, surely some of us wouldn’t inexplicably yearn for death so badly?
I didn’t die because I wanted it to stop, although towards the end I probably partially did. Please understand this. I did it because I had a burning desire in the depths of my soul for something more—a kind of wanderlust for an unknown abyss, a whole world yet to be discovered. Isn’t that what we’re always told? That the unknown is exciting and enthralling?
Who said death had to be this morbid. If you’re crying, please stop. What if my death is a glorious celebration? Could you celebrate it for me? Could all of you dance, and sing my favorite songs around my soulless body?
Again, please don’t cry. Don’t mourn. Don’t grieve. I am happy now. Happy. Truly happy. Believe this.
I love you.
- Harley Howell.
The tears spiked up as I came to terms with what happened. Harley had died. Willingly.
As if planned, the landline phone rang, calling for my attention which I shamefully gave it.
Once I answered the phone. I only confirmed my precious hypothesis.
Harley was dead.
YOU ARE READING
Rewrite The Stars
Short Story"No!" I yell out, trying to shake the shadows hands off my cold, shivering body. Hoping that he'd let me go home, and fast. "No! Get off me! Please..." Now I'm pleading. Someone come save me from this monster, this monster that I used to know oh s...
