The Monster

At night, all alone in the darkness. Squeezing my eyes shut so tight it
hurts. I can't keep the thoughts away, the thoughts of following you. I remember a time, when I was little, I feared the dark, and everything it hid. Now, I revel in it. I love the quiet and seclusion the darkness brings, and yet, still I hate it, the memories come flooding back. Your face floats before me every time I close my eyes. You look haunted, scared, and in pain.
"Why didn't you save me?" You ask, your bloodshot eyes silently plead with me. I don't know how to answer. I want to blame it all on you. I want to say that it was all your fault, you never let me in, never gave me the chance. Now it's too late.
I open my eyes and realize it was just a dream, a horrible nightmare. At the same time it isn't. You're still dead. My heart feels like it's pounding so hard against the inside of my chest, like its going to just give up and stop.
I lay awake for hours, feeling like I never slip away into a blissful dreamland, if I do, I don't remember my dreams, and I'm not sure I want to. Finally I get up, pad softly down the hall to the bathroom, where I down a sleeping pill or two. Maybe now I can get some sleep.
I wake in the morning, almost as tired as when I went to bed. Then I look at the calendar, I am suddenly wide awake. It's May 10th, Your birthday, it also means it's been a year since they discovered your body, cold, devoid of all signs of life, laying naked in the tub of rapidly cooling water. I muse over everything as I walk down the street. Water, and tub were both pink, from the blood that had poured from the cuts on your wrists and neck.
I don't think your mother will ever get over that. They moved you know, your family I mean. After the funeral they just picked up and left. I guess they couldn't deal with the memories. They even ripped out the tub to put a new one in so the house would sell. It was permanently stained a light pink. Can't expect a house to sell with evidence of suicide in the bathtub I suppose.
By now I'm standing in front of your grave, the large slab of stone marking the spot where what's left of you rots back into the Earth. Part of me sobs for the horrible mistake you made, how much I miss you, and how much I want to join you. Another part of me hates you, hopes you burn in Hell for hurting me like this.
When I got that phone call, at 8:00 in the morning, I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest. The horrible creature we have dubbed suicide had swiped my heart with his giant claws, tearing it into blood drenched ribbons, yet, it never stopped, not like yours did. I almost wish it had.
I know I could have saved you, if only you had let me in. If you had let me help you, then maybe you would still be alive and I wouldn't be standing here contemplating suicide.
You were so selfish. Was your life really that bad? In your note, you said not to blame myself, how can I not? How can I not feel responsible?
I'm going to do it, I'm going to put the gun to my head, or the noose around my neck, or maybe my sleeping pills are the way to go. I don't think I would be able to go like you did. Not after seeing your body at your funeral, they buried you in long sleeves.
I slowly walk home and go down to the basement. My note, prewritten is in my pocket, I wrote it before so I wouldn't loose my nerve. I grab a towel from the laundry pile as I walk by. I reach up and wrap it around my head, to reduce the mess, my long, dark curls disappear under the folds of fabric.
I take the pistol from the gun cabinet, place the barrel against my temple, my eyes close. I take a final deep breath, then pull the trigger. Nothing happens. I check the chamber, damn, it's unloaded. How stupid I was to believe it would be loaded! I dig through the ammo at the bottom of the cabinet. I finally find the box, 9mm. I load the gun, make sure the safety is off. Again I press the cold steel against my temple. I take one more deep breath, and pull the trigger.
My brain was shocked, along with my body. It didn't register at first what had just happened. Then the world faded, I fell to the floor in a puddle of my own blood. As I felt my life slipping away I realized, this was why you did it, to be free. I feel free, and, ironically, more alive than ever before.
The last thing I hear, is my sister's scream. But I was too far gone.





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