Chapter Sixteen:
There are only a few more days until holiday break. Then we will have thirteen days out of school and Whitney has plans for almost every one of those thirteen days.
The weather here is getting positively frigid. The sky is stuck permanently on an indecisive pewter grey colour which seals in the light and yet dims everything to an indeterminable gloom. The wind ought to whisk away this ominous coffin lid of clouds yet it does nothing.
On New Year's Eve, there will be a party. It's a party for our Creative Writing class. Mrs. Samberg arranged it. It's in the large group room of the school, where homecoming is held. Our small class of a dozen is going to be mixing with three other small classes that Mrs. Samberg teaches. All us English and Creative Writing students will be at a party.
Worst part?
It counts for fifteen percent of our semester grade. At the party, there will be an open-mic sort of thing where we are all required to read a poem or story of some sorts to the rest of the people there.
I'm not looking forward to it, yet I honestly think it'll be kind of interesting. I'll get to know more people before I die.
Thinking about it, I don't necessarily wish for death, it's almost like this New Year's Eve Party: required.
I am required to kill myself soon because life holds nothing for me. I look around and I see magical, beautiful things. I see magical, beautiful things happening to other people, but nothing magical or beautiful ever happens to me.
Lia Hart looks at me when I don't look at her. I look at Lia Hart when she's not looking at me. We are slowly getting to know each other through these gazes, absorbing how sad we are, how lonely.
She's still breathtaking but she's not mine. I am in awe of her beauty and her determination to die. I wouldn't call it love. I would call it a last straw. Life is throwing every bit of ammunition at me, attempting to keep me alive. It's gone so far to throw this at me: a girl that I am fascinated with.
I'm not quite sure how I'd like to die, but I'd like it to be stunning.
I think of overdosing. There are lots of pills in the house. Mum and Dad don't lock them up and why should they? They know nothing of how depressed I am. They know nothing of who I truly am. I purposely made it that way. This way when I'm gone, it won't be too hard on them.
I mean, honestly. How hard would it be to lose a son that you never even knew?
YOU ARE READING
Thirteen
Teen FictionShe's waiting for the day when she can sink the knife a little deeper, throw herself down a little farther. She is tired. She wants rest. She is waiting. He's waiting for the day when his stomach shrinks into nothingness, until he can take his last...
