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"Chris!"

My mom came down the porch just as I was walking back home.

"Mom-"

"Where have you been?! You had me worried."

She was looking at the piece of paper in my hands.

"What is that? Is that what I think it is?"

"No mom! These aren't drugs!"

My mom was just the typical normal American mother, the mother who would bake pies for new neighbors,  who had a perfect home, a perfect husband and a rebellious son. She looked like a model from the 60s. Her perfect brown and  curled short hair, and her poodle skirts I get her for Christmas.

"Then what is it Christian!"

Before I could even hand it to her she ripped it out of my hands.

It was a suicidal note.

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