My first impressions of you couldn’t have been further from what you are. But then, I wasn’t really seeing straight that day anyway. On the way to St Anne’s school, feeling self-righteous as, surely, the only person attending the course totally alone, I got lost. I reached a roundabout with three turnings, and didn’t have the foggiest which road to take. I called home, my gut warping. In the end, someone gave me a lift, seeing my viola case at my feet on the pavement and guessing my predicament. There were lots of people milling round, all with parents, and the mandatory, floppy-haired prodigies who were hardly as tall as their instruments but had done grade 8. Vague uncertainty gripped me, a haze, a screen between me and everyone else. I followed the general direction to a table, where lots of little children were registering with mummy and daddy and me, the 15-year-old all alone, stuck out like a wrong note. The first day was terrible. I mistook my own section for the second violins.1
I started talking to you properly the next day. We were the rest of our string quartet, so to speak. You the second violin and me the viola, we made up what my viola teacher always calls the “innards” of the quartet. The other two were only thirteen, and had come with each other. Waiting for the orchestra to assemble, we started talking. You were here without your parents, too. Staying with a grandma, but nonetheless a little closer to me than the others. The bond grew at break. You liked Queen and classical music. You wanted to start the bass. Then, we started talking to the other guy. Fred, he was called. My age. So I wasn’t the only 15-year-old any more. The three of us arranged to meet up after the string-playing course, which ended at one o clock each day, was over. Sitting in a small café with my plate of cheese on toast, I can remember just how different it felt to the previous day to be anticipating a text from Alex mob. I’d found a friend.2
I could go on to describe the times we shared, but it would make a book. Suffice to say that it didn’t take long for me to realize that you’d changed my life. I’d found three friends. More than friends; soul mates. And you and Fred were more than just friends, too.3
What makes you different from anyone else? Why did I, normally so stiff and formal, click with you instantly? You weren’t like anyone else I knew. You were genuine, friendly and lively, but I think what made the most difference was your acceptance of me. Much as I love all my other friends, it wears you down when every time you do something wrong, you’re a spaz, or a retard, or a freak. You were, and still are, special.4
That was August. Now, it’s March. Tomorrow will be the first time I’ve seen you since then, and it will be so different from when I last saw you. I know you better than then. But that’s not the only thing. You got the text you’d been dreading from Fred the other day. You’re very different now. You want to hang yourself in his porch. I wrote this to declare, publicly, that if you did that, it would destroy me. A friend whose name I refuse to publish on here has been cutting herself since her friend died of a bad asthma attack last year. She is very depressed. She’s never been the same since. She still needs therapy. And that is what happens when it’s a death from natural causes. I don’t even want to think how I would be if you killed yourself for one person. I would know that you had planned to do it, and that I hadn’t been able to stop you. Maybe I’d do the same, or maybe I’d carry on my life as a broken person, as a failure. I don’t know. I don’t want to find out, either. They say that when a person kills themselves, they don’t think about the people they are leaving behind. I know you can’t have put enough thought into what you plan to do, because you would never do that to me. I’m not the only one who you would hurt, either. Think about everyone else- your parents, all your other friends, and last but certainly not least Fred. He may not want to be in a relationship with you any more but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be friends. He isn’t worth killing yourself for. 5
Some people say that you get over a suicide, but those are the ones who don’t know what it’s like. Those who do say it’s a life sentence. I don’t care what you promised. If I were a piece of cloth, killing yourself would pull out all the main threads. I would fall apart. You’re hurrying me as we speak, and I can’t think of how else to say it, so I will say it plainly. Don’t do it. 6
Author notes
This isn't fictional. Any of it. Kinda ironic that I've posted it as a story, but I don't know what else to post it as.
If anyone a little more informed about these matters than me could be bothered reading all of this, please comment!
Could be improved, but I was in a hurry.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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youre story was so full of emotion and pain i pray that youre friend will see that she means alot to someone and death is never a good way out. poeple are going through much worse pain than a breakup could ever bring. your friend should embrace this as a lesson, a stepping stone in life and a chance to grow stronger and wiser.and you are such a good friend for helping
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I liked the few ending lines. They were, brace yourself, I use this word in my comments alot, poignant. But honestly, they were.
I liked the idea of threads of a person, and then I thought of it like a sweater of shirt, and then it made more sense, but was less proseful, you know. Thinking about phrases like that are life and death situations on smaller scales.
This was overall intelligent, and deserves applause. -
Call the act what it is. Suicide is the act of a coward. We are all the same. We suffer , fall down, bleed, but we don't all give up. Do anything it takes to keep your friend alive. Make them mad, make them embarrased, make them afraid, make them guilty. In other words, make them feel alive. Never, never, never give up hope.
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powerful stuff
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Wow this poem/ story was amazing. I loved it. Im glad you care so much to write this about your friend. They are lucky to know you and have you care about them! Awesome Job!
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greta work i liked it it was very good
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Deep in meaning and mature
I have to say that this story caught my attention due to the title. It's actually my name. Hehe.
But above all, I respect what this piece is saying. It's very mature of you to produce work like this, and I applaud you for that.
Your vocabulary is beautiful. This is a wonderful piece! -
Ok Hawaiichick! I come to my senses. *looks guilty* I moved on totally now, and Im trying to erase the fact the Fred Bryce ever existed to me. If he's got a problem with me putting his name on here, I'll change it. Until then it's staying. So there.
Life is going on now, but I will not still be friends with him. I don't think that I could manage it, seeing him going out with other people. That was my place. Mine. I really couldn't do it.
On the plus side, I've been invited to go on a double blind date with one of my friends, so fingers crossed I'll get lucky then lol.
Cyaz
~A-Nonny-Mouse~ -
I hope your friend comes to their senses and understands what others would fell if he/her actually commited suicide. I like your story too...it was very touching and it got to the point without really being planned out to sound really nice, it sounds authentic and full of feeling. I just wish you and your friend the best
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I feel with you in this story. Really I do. Everything you say is perfectly true. It is very well written. Nice style and good grammar and spelling.
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Sorry about hurrying you. What can I say? Except what the fuck am I gonna do? Im going crazy enough as it is. Im gonna end up a complete wreck by the end of the month. I'll make you this promise-I won't do it unless things really get too much, that keeps everyone happy. Ish.
~A-Nonny-Mouse~
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