The End

You look at the ground in front of you. It's hard to breath. Harder than usual, maybe. You can't tell, you haven't been able to breath for a long time. You go to the bathroom to grab a drink of water. Maybe it will help. Not that it ever has before. You look in the mirror. When did your face get so thin? You hadn't noticed that before. It hurts a bit, knowing that everyone has to look at that face every day. You cringe at the thought. Better not to think of things like that. You fill your glass with water. The house is so quiet. When did it get like that? It used to have so much life, even during the night. But now people walk carefully around you, trying not to break you. The house has no sound, and the silence is a void. You look back at the mirror. The glass is cracked, the hinges rusty, but it feels comfortable. How many times did you look into that mirror before school, wondering if you looked good enough? You put your makeup on with that mirror before your first date. Every photo day, you agonized over the face in that mirror. You look away. The mirror has seen more of you than most of the people in your life, and that's kind of depressing. You look at the hinges again, worn and rusty. You've never seen them any other way. You reach out to touch them, and your hands come back with red flakes. You open the mirror so that you don't see the face staring at you anymore. It hurts too much. You see the bottles and bottles of pills that your parents tried to give you to help with your feelings. The professionals said they would work, so why didn't they? Why couldn't they save you. You grab the first one and open it. It's still mostly full. Your parents never did check to see if you took them, did they? They just kept handing you more bottles. Now the first one is empty. You didn't even realize what you had done, but it feels right. So right. Finally, those pills might actually help you. You sit on the ground. The bottle caps are all around you. Your heartbeat slows. Everything slows. You hear everything going on around you. You take a breath, but it's not working very well. You feel dizzy, but overall, it's not as bad as you expected. You just feel sort of tired. Maybe you should just go to sleep. You close your eyes against the cold ground. Your heart beats even more slowly. You feel like hours are going by between each heartbeat.

One heartbeat, one memory. That's what it feels like. You see your best friend. You loved her so much. She helped make your heartbeat. You see the two of you picking flowers in a pumpkin patch. You see yourself teaching her how to make dandelion crowns. You see the sun shining on you guys as you played the whole summer. You thought that you had all the time in the world to play with her. You see the friendship bracelets you had made together. Does she still have hers? You don't know. The memory moves forwards to you guys playing pretend in your playhouse, playing boardgames in front of a fire in the winter, running into leaf piles during fall, and making potions out of new plants during spring. It's all so beautiful. You guys had so much fun together. You loved her more than anyone else at that point. She was your first friend. You had a plan to live together during university. You had plans with her. How will she feel when she finds out they will never happen? You start to feel a bit of pain, for the girl that's going to be heartbroken that she couldn't save her best friend. Maybe you made a mistake? But it's too late now, you move on to someone else who mattered, and your best friend is lost to the void along with the laughter and happiness in the memories.

You see the love of your life. You hear the quiet giggles of teenagers. You see the quick glances in class, the hand holding, the smiles, the kisses. You smell his deodorant. He smelled good. You see him at practice, sweaty and beautiful. You see him during a game, smiling up at you to make sure you see him as he kicks it into the net. You see him looking at you during one of your performance, almost in a trance, listening to the music with a look on his face that tells you that he loves you. You see the coffee shops that you guys went to, the places you would walk around. You see his house, where you spend most of your time. You see his handwriting, his stupid little drawings, the notes he would write for you. You hear his voice, low and soft. It sounded like a cello, comfortable and sweet. You see his hair, his hands, his eyes. You see him with happiness, with sadness. You see him in his weakest moments, and you remember how much you loved him. You feel his pain when he cries about his mom. And you feel his strong body around when you cry about your problems. You feel the strong bond that you guys made before you even started dating. You remember the first time you met him in grade eight. The difference between his voice reading stories in English and the voice he used to talk to friends. You remember the special way he used to say your name. You see the future that you could have had together. The house you would have gotten after a while, decorated with a mix of both of you. You see your beautiful children, and grandchildren. You see the future that you wanted so badly, the love that came with all the memories, and the feeling of home that you had with him. He was more your home than your family. You two would have been so happy, so in love, for the rest of your life. You ruined that. The feeling of a stabbing pain returns to your heart as the future shatters and you see his face, his heart, his whole body broken after he learns what happened. Will he call your phone to hear your voicemail one last time? Will he right letters to you that you will never answer? Will he remember you at all? Your face crumples, and you finally move on to the next person.

You see your mom. Her face when she comes into the bathroom and finds you on the ground with the pills beside you. You remember how she would drive you to all your lessons. The talks about boys you would have. When you told her you needed to go see a therapist. There was so much hope that you would feel better. That talking to your mom would help everything. You remember all the walks along the beach you had with your family, you and your siblings running in front while your parents walked a bit behind, enjoying the time together. Will they still go to the beach every family day, or it that another thing you ruined? You wonder who your dad will jam with at home now. It was a thing you guys did together, it was the thing you looked forward to when you went home every day. Will they be able to laugh again in that house after it was tainted with your death? Would they move? How will they be able to move on without you? You should've written a note in some way, just to let them know that you loved them so much. To let them know that it wasn't their fault. You start to cry harder, and it feels like you're in a pool of your own tears. You can't breathe, you keep seeing the face of your brother, his quiet demeanor breaking when your mom tells them what happen. The pain in your sister when she learns that she'll never see her older sister again. Your dad's anger at himself for not being able to help. For not seeing how much pain you were in. And you hear your mom's scream for help when she finds you, laced with fear and pain. She's knows there's no helping you, but she tries anyways. She can't lose you. How will she live with herself after this? You messed everything up. Why couldn't you have just held on a bit longer.

You see faces flashing in front of you, faster and faster as you feel yourself falling into that void of silence. You see your bandmates. How will they make music without you? You see one of your other best friends. How will he do his homework without your help? How will your favourite teacher react to you not coming to class ever again. Will she leave your chair empty, or will she take it away? Will your friends leave a spot for you at the lunch table, just in case someone made a mistake and you come walking through the door? Who will she go to concerts with? Who will he walk home with? Who will she sit next to? Who will fill your spot? How could anyone ever fill your spot? How could you of thought anyone could? The memories come faster, your first crush, your first kiss, your best concert, talking in class, making people laugh, black nail polish, combat boots, standing by lockers, waiting for the bus. All the small things you forgot, all the things that made you live, come back. You miss your life, you miss your friends, your family, your love. But you slipped, and now you're falling, and no one can save you. You try to hold on for a bit longer, but it doesn't work, and the silence swallows you, but not soon enough. You are alive long enough to hear the first scream as your mom walks through the door. Then nothing.