Second Chance

He fell face first onto his bed and lay there, motionless.1

His fingers searched blindly for the play button on the CD player next to his bed. When he found it he turned up the volume, and was soon lost in his own troubled thoughts.2

He soon fell asleep, but was awoken by the sound of his sister crying in the room below him. He sat up, glancing at the clock. 2:34am. 3

He walked silently downstairs, towards his sister’s room and the sound of her sobs.4

The door was open a crack. He pushed it open and walked in. His twelve-year-old sister was sitting on the floor, bruised and scared. Her father stood over her, his hand raised, ready to strike her again.5

He smelled the beer coming off his father. He looked at the tears streaming down his sister’s face, and felt a huge wave of anger he had kept hidden for years resurface.6

He brought a knife out of his pocket and took a step toward his father. His father turned and seeing his son with the blade, and even through this drunk state he noticed the fierce anger in his eyes, took a step back in fear.7

He walked closer to his father, remembering all of the beatings he had endured over the years. Reliving the hurt he had felt when his mother had died. Feeling the pain of his father’s leather belt strike across his back.8

As he snapped back into the present and out of the memories, he found he had strangled his father. Deaf to his sisters’ terrified cries, he slid the blade across his father’s throat.9

Looking at his now bloody, shaking hands. He stares at his sister, horrified at what he'd done. Then, as if someone else had taken over his body, he picked up the knife again and brought it to his wrist. Pressing deep, he cut a line following his vein.10

Finally, he thought. He'd meant to do this for a long time and now he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Suddenly memories of him and his friends laughing and joking appeared in his mind. Having a great time. Never thinking about death. Memories of his sister hugging him, laughing with him. Forgotten dreams appeared in his mind. Now it was too late.11

He sat bolt upright in his bed, breathing hard. He stared at the clock. 2:34am. Had it all been a dream? He wondered. He could still remember the deliciously warm blood dripping down his arm. Suddenly he could still feel the burning sensation from the cut, and he stared down at his wrist. The scars were still there, following the vein. They were still raw and soar.12

Relief flooded him. He was given a second chance, and he wasn't about to ruin it this time.13