I snatch a tissue from the box being held before me, and watch as the carton is passed down the line of grieving relatives. I can not bring myself to cry over this man, no, this boy laying in the coffin before me. Just one week ago I was sitting in my bed, comfortably reading a book. The thoughts of that comfort reach my heart, and I melt a little inside. Wishing all this would go away, wishing that I could be back in my safe haven; away from the world. Away from the place where teenagers kill themselves, away from the place where parents are irresponsible, away from the place where I didn't give a damn. How can I be so attached to someone I have met only once in my existence on this earth? How can his passing make such an effect on my life? Why did I lay on my bed and cry for hours when I heard of his death? No one knows.1
"We need to talk" My mom whispers from my door. I can tell its serious. 2
"Grandma just called, and something has happened."3
I panic. Is Grandma okay? How is papa Jack?4
"Is it grandma? Grandpa?" I stutter out, trying to keep the fear from overtaking my voice. 5
She quickly hushes my immediate worries. "no, no, its your cousin. Uncle Steve's son. He.." she pauses and her eyes puff up in tears. I fear the worst, usually it prepares me for whatevers coming.6
"he shot himself. He.. he died. Hes gone" and at the last word she turns and rushes from my room, head in hands. Instinct tells me to go after her, but my legs won't respond. I am stuck on my bed, my toes dangling off the edge. I sit for what seems like eternity, until finally one lone tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly. He was the same age as me, we studied the same subjects in school, we enjoyed the same literature. He was a beautiful person, even if I didn't know him very well. I think about going after my mom, but decide to turn off the lights and curl up at the top of my bed. 7
I lay under the comforter, and picture the scene in my mind. I see him. Standing there in front of the cabinet, and I see him crying. On his knees, praying to God, and crying. I see him pull the gun to his head, I see the fear in his eyes, the doubt in his features. I see his fingers squeeze the trigger, and I see the blood. Oh, the blood. It pours from the wound, making me sick to my stomach. I rush myself to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet. 8
I get up from the solid comfort of the ceramic paradise, and look at myself in the mirror. It was not long ago that I looked at the same features and thought about killing myself. I remember crying until I could hardly breath, I remember holding the wretched weapon in my hands, I remember my doubt, and I remember the relief that went rushing from my body when someone stopped me. Why didn't anyone try and stop him? Did they not care? Were the just not around? Why? 9
I gracefully maneuver my way back to my bedroom, the house is dark by now and I fear waking anyone. Not that they will be sleeping very good tonight anyways. I stumble through the rubbish on the ground and crawl back into bed, and I lay there and sob until there are no tears left to cry. 10
I wake the next morning with puffy eyes, and sadly get ready for school. Why is school important? Its not like it helped him. Hes dead now. I get to the horrid building and go to my science class where I am reprimanded for not doing my homework. 11
I think to myself it is rather ridiculous of her to be worried about a trivial thing like homework when there are kids killing themselves. But I keep my mouth shut. There is nothing I can do about it but mourn the loss of the ones I hold dear. I don't tell anyone, not even my closest friends, I feel like this is a secret I should hold and keep to myself, I feel like no one else will ever understand his pain and his reasoning. I was there once as well, no one else has the right to feel for him. He was special. He was different. He was so good and strong. I bail out of second period and hide out in the bathroom, the stall closest to the window. I sit on the top of the toilet and though about him, and cried for him. I hear the bell in the distance signaling lunch, and I unlatch the door and push it out. There is a girl sitting on the bench, reading a book. She looks up as I open the door, with a look of shock on her face.12
"I.. I... I didn't realize there was anyone else in here" she finally manages to spit out. I had never seen this girl before. She had scraggly brown hair, hanging in disarray around her gaunt face. Her giant green eyes contrasted with the pastiness of her skin, and her sunken features added to the effect of pure, dirty beauty. I immediately feel a soft spot for this girl with no name.13
She sees my staring, and looks into my eyes. I watch as her features change as she notices the puffy eyes and the tear-stained cheeks. I see a look of... pity? No, a look of understanding cross her face.14
"Are you alright?" she says with more confidence in her voice. I nod my head in reply, hoping she understand my inability to talk. She seems to because she looks back down at her book and continues to read. Simple things like connecting with a stranger. Simple things that he will never get to experience again. 15
I quickly dab on some concealer and fix my make-up. When I'm done you can hardly tell what I had been doing for the past hour and twenty two minutes. I gather my things, and mumble a "good-bye" to the girl. She is too caught up in her book to hear me, or even register the fact that I left. Good.16
Author notes
I just heard the news today and I felt like writing a story about it. This is all off the top if my head, and i didn't edit at all, so be gentle.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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This is a little too clinical and not quite enough drawing your reading in. There seems nothing left to the imagination. Describe your surrounds, describe back ground but all the time be drawing out your readers imagination for it is through that they will connect emotionally. Because there is a strange trick here where I am reading what should be a highly emotional story that did not touch wehere it should have. I should be ripped to shreds but I am still in tact and you can't do that with such a good premise. And the fault is not that it is written badly, it is just the reader has little room to move and to have their mind start formulating a response as it is served up constantly. I would suggest there would be very little to do here except pull back slightly from the story and allow your readers to imagine as it is a really good story at its heart.
David -
This is a very good write, and I'm srry you had to go through that. The feelings you wrote down can be easily understood by anyone who's gone through something like that. It was very good, and you should never change it, because that is the way you felt. Well, keep on penning, you're very talented.
-They call me Deadeye -
good
I liked this story, i'm very glad you wrote it!
death is a very painful subject when someone you know dies, even when its someone you dont know very well, especially if you do.
well done, keep it up! -
I admit when I saw the title, I was a little skeptical, but I was surprised at how mature the story turned out to be. I appreciate that a LOT; I was hoping (praying) it wouldn't be a "I hate life so I'm going to complain and be suicidal" type of story--and it surpassed all my expectations.
Interesting story. I liked that you incorporated this girl in the bathroom; it made the last lines to this perfect. It all seemed so real. That's the best type of writing. When things feel real; when you know that this is happening somewhere. It was wonderful to read. Awesome work. -
This was so amazing...I love how you describe the impact of a suicide in the family. It isn't just the fact that there is death in the family...it is that it could have been prevented by anyone. That feeling grows so stong in me...wanting to reach out to people like him...excellently penned...lovely raw emotion, a work of dark wonder.
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Awesome
WHOA. Cool short story. I like it. Your a really good writing. You have talent. Stay cool and keep writing.
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Excellent!
Oh My Gosh. This is so sad. The intro was perfect and learning the deatils of the story is sadder. 'I feel like no one else will ever understand his pain and his reasoning' that line appealed to me so much.
This piece is so emotional. Going through a loss like that must be hard. I can't imagine it at all, I've never lost anyone close.
This piece clearly shows you have talent. Keep writing. -
Exceptional piece. You have the ability to emotionally engage the reader and to paint vivid mental pictures. If you are not someday published, I would be very much surprised. Great Job.
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I am immensly sorry about your loss, but it is a very inspiring story. I know exactly how you feel. My brother shot himself and i had to go through the same thing. I really enjoyed your story. Keep up the wonderful work. I also entered the contest that you are holding. I hope that you enjoy my story! thank you
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Wow! I must first say that I am so sorry about ur loss.
The fact that you took something tragic and turned it into something amazing! Kudos!
What a special way to honor someone's memory
Beautifully written! Don't change a thing!
~"How can his passing make such an effect on my life? Why did I lay on my bed and cry for hours when I heard of his death? No one knows."~
You were hit hard not only becuz of his relation to you, but becuz of the empathy u feel. You have been in his shoes....
I can relate to many aspects of this story! Just by wanting to keep his memory private from ur friends...
What more can I say?
Amazing!
Edited on Apr 30 because 'typos...(sighs)
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very nicely written and so...emotional. You're very talented. Atleast one good thing came out of this hardship. congratulations
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Wow, i'm sorry you had to go through that. For being so upset and for it all just coming out at once--it's damn good. I think it's because it's so honest, that and you're talent as a writer. It struck a chord in me, and im sure many people will say the same. Very well written, and from the heart.
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This is truly amazing. In my humble opinion, you have a gift. It has been said to be a truly great writer you must endure hardship, for the greatest inspiration comes to us when we are in the darkest pits of despair. I am sorry that you had to go threough such a horrible experience, but you should know that your pain inspired a brilliantly written story. I don't think of myself as a sentimental girl, but this made me choke up.
Everything, or atleast almost everything, happens for a reason. That which does not kill us will ultimatly make us stronger. Times like these inspire us and give us a greater reason for living and for helping others do the same.
Keep up the good work.
Love Always
Torbgor -
My goodness, LiquidLullaby (Katy if I may), you are a writer who glows talent and flows meaning, you have a gift. I’m hoping the passion in this piece can be repeated many more times over, for the story you are writing and the reader you wish to impart your skill to. It only works when you stay in touch (as this story does).
Life can give such sad results often not seeming to have reason. I like to think we gain something for ourselves and take away qualities to make us more, whole. Perhaps that’s why we are touched so by the events of others.
I hope you are well – I’m quite sure your cousin would be touched by your skilful, passionate tribute; I am (much more then you could possibly imagine) – thank you.
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