One Shots/ Short Stories/ Poems

Given Half The Chance

I watched her, the girl I’d known for so long but never met. She was my best friend, and I was hers.

I looked after her, a guardian angel maybe? I’d like to think so, a guardian angel.

I watched as she stepped out on the sidewalk, mindlessly cruising her way towards the middle of the busy street. She stopped, and waited.

A car sped down the road, fast. But then, something quite peculiar happened.

A car appeared behind her, blocking all space for the car in front of her to move ahead to the other side.  The car in front of her stopped right as it was about to hit her. A miracle had let the girl live.

Things like this have happened every day for the past eleven months now. An act of fate would keep her breathing. For the day at least. That act of fate was made by me.

It wasn’t always like this, she wasn’t always suicidal. 13 months ago, I was alive and breathing, fighting my own daily battle. She was always there for me, whether it be on Skype or on Twitter, she was always online, waiting for me, wherever it was.

Until one day, I lost my battle, I’d lost hope. I was sick of life and everything in it. I had become a victim of my own thoughts. I had given up, and I was starting to like the idea of death. Each day, the thought of being dead pleased me more and more. What was the difference between being dead and alive to me? There was none, I already felt dead.

So I decided to take my own life, a suicide victim.

I remember the last words she said to me, they echo in my mind even now, “I’d rather die than have you hurt yourself. Don’t leave me Jess, you’re my guardian angel, I love you.”

Ill never forget what she said, and I don’t think I ever will. Ever since I left, she became suicidal; her thoughts consumed her every second of the day.

Every day, she would try to commit, and when it failed, she’d go on Twitter, only to tweet my long forgotten Twitter account two words, “I’m sorry.”

She did this every day, and if I was given half the chance, I would take it back.  I would take it all back.

I was behind a wall of thoughts when I was alive; a wall of thoughts that told me no one would care, no one would notice, everyone hated me. But it wasn’t true; they were far from the truth.

But she cared, she noticed, and she didn’t hate me.

And I was too stupid to realize it until it was too late.

After I died, she lost a piece of herself. The piece that made her want to keep going, keep moving forward. The piece that made her want to stay alive. And now it’s gone.

Now, it’s been exactly a year since I died, some people are remembering me, but she’s locked herself in the bathroom. Her legs are huddled to her chest, her arms securing them. She puts her face between her arms. She’s crying, she thinks it’s her fault, but in reality, it’s all mine. She’s lost the will to live, she’s not the same. I wish I can go back, back to when she was smiling, back to when she had not a trouble in the world. But I can’t.

And given half the chance, I would take it all back.