Suicidal Love (part 1

April 10, 2010
By Belinda Burger SILVER, Fresno, California
Belinda Burger SILVER, Fresno, California
6 articles 0 photos 3 comments

“No please stop!” I scream, “Mom!”
“Go….get….help…….Estella,” the last words my mom says before she’s gone, taken away from me forever. Her killer turns to me and I begin to run but it’s hopeless I run for miles and miles but it’s an endless path and I keep hearing my mother’s screams all around me. I fall to the ground, covering my ears, “No stop!”
I swiftly sit up in my bed, screaming. I’m shaking and crying so bad and breathing heavily. I’ve been having that same nightmare every night for the past six years since it actually happened. I look at the clock and it’s two in the morning on January 10, 2009, the day my mom was killed. As soon as I stop crying I fall back into a dreamless sleep for what seems like only a few minutes before my alarm clock plays Seventeen Forever by Metro Station. I turn over in bed and press the sleep button on the alarm clock. I try to go back to sleep but my dad yells and pounds on my door, “Get up Estella you have to get ready for school!”
“I’m getting ready,” I yell back getting up. I walk over to my closet and pull out a fringed jean skirt that goes a little over halfway to my knees, black tights, and a plain black v-neck. I get changed and walk into the bathroom. I brush out my ratty hair and keep it down, apply silver eye shadow, mascara, cover up and lip gloss. I go back into my room and pick up the picture of my mom and me from my dresser. It’s the only picture I could find, her and me at the 2nd grade mother-daughter day at my school. I took out a pink box from under my bed and a stationary set. I took out a piece of paper and wrote, Mom, I miss you so much, dad hasn’t been the same since you left , he’s always so grumpy, not fun like he used to be, I just want to say I love you and hope you are happy in heaven. I took the note, folded it up and put in the pink box along with millions of other pieces of paper.
As I put the box back under my bed my dad yells, “Estella Marie Carleton! Get down here now before you miss the bus!”
“I’m coming keep your toupee on!” I yell back. I grab my messenger bag, cell and Ipod and go down the stairs two steps at a time.
“You need to stop this young lady, you can’t afford another detention,” my dad scolded, eyes on the newspaper.
“For your information dad,” I say grabbing an apple, “I’ve never had a detention.”
“You will if you don’t get out there and wait for the bus,” he was still scanning the paper.
“I’m going,” I say unhappy, I hate school, I hate home too but at least I don’t feel like a loser at home. I have NO friends at school everyday I hear people talking crap about me not even bothering to notice I’m there. During lunch I go to the girls’ bathroom on the 2nd floor and cry my eyes out.
The bus comes and I go straight to the back, sitting alone. I pull my iPod out of my bag and listen to it, tuning out everyone on the bus. When the bus stops at the school I take the ear buds out of my ears and stuff my iPod back into my bag. As I walk through the hallways to my locker I can hear the group of preps whispering, “Just cause she’s suicidal doesn’t mean she should dress all emo; I heard that she could have called when the guy broke in but she decided not to because she hated her mom and wanted her to die; bet you she’ll start cutting soon.”
I walk faster tears filling my eyes. I quickly opened my locker and pulled out my math book and binder.

I go straight to math and take my seat in the back left corner. I get through the test really fast and still have 20 minutes to kill. I sit doodling in my notebook, first it’s a simple heart but it quickly transforms into a black, broken heart with black roses and other random designs. I’m so into drawing I don’t hear the bell ring.
“Ms. Carleton,” my math teacher, Mr. Seral says, “I believe class is over.”
“Oh sorry Mr. Seral,” I say blushing, and packing up my stuff, “I-I must have gotten distracted.”
“Actually I’m glad you didn’t rush out I need to talk to you,” he says looking up from a test he was grading.
“What about?”
“Nothing bad, it’s just your test scores are phenomenal and yet you are in the average class.”
“My dad feels it would be better for me if I didn’t move up, he thinks it’ll make me feel stupid and make my condition,” I pause, “worse.”
“Sweetie,” he sighs, “It shouldn’t be your dad’s choice. It should be yours.”
“I know. Can I get to my next class now?” He nods and I walk out of the classroom. I walk into my history class and get death glares from some of the preps of our school. I sit through the class doodling in the margins of the paper. Same thing in the next two periods until lunch comes. At lunch I go straight to the girl’s bathroom and open my cell. No texts as usual. I sigh and open up my copy of Crank. After the 45 minute lunch period ended I went to my last 2 classes then on the bus home. When I get home my dad is still at work, yes the house to myself, I think as I go up the stairs and into my room, shutting the door. I turn on my laptop and log on to the internet. I check my email: junk, junk, dating site, junk… typical inbox until I see the words: THE NEW MYSPACE!!!, in a subject line. I double click the message which read:
Hey teenager!
Tired of being on that site full of preps and jocks? Well here’s a new website for kids like you who are into MCR and FOB and Metro Station instead of Miley Cyrus and Brittany Spears and Jonas Brothers! A site where you can express your poems or show off your art! Sign up now @
I click the link and see what the website looks like; it seems harmless so I click the Sign Up button.

The author's comments:
Despite the Title trhis is a love story, i'll be posting in parts

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This article has 2 comments.

on Apr. 19 2010 at 6:29 am
silent_pen GOLD, Colcord, Oklahoma
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Favorite Quote:
ad aspra per aspera(to the stars with difficulties)

i wonder too


on Apr. 18 2010 at 9:45 pm
Green8a8 SILVER, NY, New York
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Favorite Quote:
im the author of my life, unfortunately im writing in pen therefore i can't erase nothing about it.-by some crazy friend of mine

interesting...i wonder what it will bring her into

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