Alone. Forgotten. These are the words that pierce through me, pounding against my head, flowing through my veins. Alone. Forgotten. Two words that changed every meaning in my life, changed me to who I am today. I’m sitting in my top floor apartment. It’s been empty for far too long. Sure, there are books and furniture, but if I were to leave and then reopen the door, I’m sure I’d feel as though no one lived here. Then again, who would live here? Everything seems to have lost its color. Everything brings me down more. Of course, it wasn’t always this way. I can remember the day my wife and I bought this place. The bright sun shone through the window and every inch of the room would beam back at it.
Oh, those were the good ‘ole days. Two years later she died. My beloved wife, never pregnant, was in a car accident.
That day my apartment tried to smile at me, tried to cheer me up, but it was to no avail. I sat in my chair and I held my glass ball. I didn’t cry, I couldn’t cry. Nothing seemed real to me. Nothing seems real to me, still. Slowly I stopped noticing. I stopped noticing the sun shining through the window. I stopped noticing the room beaming up at it, trying to reach its vibrant color to me, But I never noticed. When I look around, all I see is black and white and so much gray. It’s all just a shadow of what I used to be.
Maybe if someone had come over just once, I wouldn’t be where I am. But no one came, no one ever comes. And, maybe, I shouldn’t have let myself go like I did, but it was far too late to fix me. I did what I could, and I couldn’t help that that led me to let myself go. The one person I loved is gone and no one ever comes. I don’t like sympathy, I never have, but it would have been nice to hear just one ‘I’m sorry,’ just one is all I’m asking, all I ASKED for. Now it’s too late for me. I can’t sleep; I can’t eat. My life is a blur, a colorless, hopeless blur of everything I’ll never have. I’ll never get to say ‘I’ve been married for 50 years.’ I’ll never get…got… to hold my wife’s hand for the last minute of her life and whisper ‘I love you’ one last time. I’ll never have the life I thought I’d be having right now.
And, as I sit here, holding my glass ball up and away, looking at my grim expression, I realize just how much I don’t want this anymore.

I stand up, out of the chair I’ve been sitting in for so long. I drop the glass ball I’ve been staring at for so long, watching as it explodes into a million shiny pieces, a symbol of my life. I walk to a tiny drawer and pull out a rope. I tie it high and stand on a chair until my head fits perfectly into the noose I tied years ago. Then, I kick the chair away.

I cringe as the rope tightens. It’s so painful. My lungs are screaming for air. My mouth gaps for air. My body twitches in weird, irregular patterns from the lack of air. My body just doesn’t understand this is what I want, what I need. I’m gasping for air I will not get.

There are two final thoughts I have when I take my last shaking gasp of air:

1)’I’m coming Juliet’ and
2) How long until someone finds I’m gone?