Bittersweet | Teen Ink


October 9, 2020
By Anonymous

Author's note:

I, Mikey, wrote this story as an assignment in school. I never thought that I'd love it so much, but, here we are. I do hope to write a full story about this in the future.

I look in the mirror, analyzing every feature I have. From my hazel eyes to my small nose, small ears, slightly pudgy cheeks, short blonde hair, there’s nothing I recognize.

This is the mask I hide behind. It’s the only thing to keep people from finding out about who I am. What would Andy think if he knew his boyfriend is a murder. I couldn’t bear to not see his fluffy black hair, his beautiful blue eyes, and his wondrous smile that can brighten a room.

My poor Andy knows not who I am, but who I pretend to be. It’s not fair that I know him, but he doesn’t know me. None of this is fair, and neither is life. This is why I save those people. I live a lie to rescue others from this horrid landscape.

I mustn’t worry about such things. Surely Andy will see one day that life is the most unfair of games. I’ve lost the sport of living, just to help others escape, but that’s not something anyone else can understand.

I discontinue my thoughts before I lose my mind. I pick up my suitcase and walk outside of the bathroom. I see Andy leaning against the counter, sipping some coffee. I walk over to him and snatch the cup out of his hands, chugging the rest of it. I ignore the burning sensation on my tongue and laugh lightheartedly.

“Was that really necessary, Frank?” Andy asked jokingly.

Frank is such a pleasant name for me. The people closest to me have always called me Paco, but I enjoy hearing the name Frank.

“Yes,” I replied playfully, “I’ve got to go to work now. Love you.”

I kiss Andy on the cheek and rush outside. It’s a cloudy morning, as always. Liverpool rarely has any sunny days. I prefer days like this to anything else. It gives me a better cover for when I’m relieving people of this harsh life.

I head towards my milky white 2019 Jeep Compass in which I bought with money from working in a mortuary. That’s where I met my beautiful Andy. Marvelous times they were.

I open the driver door and hop in, then examine the dark interior. It’s such a stark contrast compared to the body color. The colors don’t crash, but instead work together to create a visually pleasing contraption. This car helps me. I help people. This car is light on the outside but has a dark interior, the same as me. I could compare myself to a car, anyone could, but they would all have different perspectives.

Everyone has a different perspective of me. Nobody notices the beauty in it all. They’ve never seen the flame behind one’s eyes transfer to a haven in a vast expanse that mere mortals cannot see. They’ve never felt the maroon life force flow from the body of someone free.

Free. What a word. Free can mean many things. It can mean getting an item without paying, a bird flying in the wind, or being whom you want to be. It’s one of the most beautiful words, yet nobody knows what it means. Free is subjective, like humor. There’s one assumed definition, yet so many ways to interpret it.

I turn my car on and back out of the driveway. I head towards the creepy part of town that nobody likes because everyone’s afraid they’ll get shot. I justify their fears, especially based on my job, but it’s what I have to do.


I arrive at an alleyway near the old bar that now homes people who don’t have a care for this dreadful life. They’re all perfect for my job. None of them want to suffer, so why should I choose someone whose life seems like a dream for them. Everyone knows that life is nothing but a desert of lies, but people hallucinate and believe that they’ve found an oasis.

I drive past the alleyway and park on the next street over. People on the streets have seen my car, but they will never remember it amid the flood of other vehicles. I get out of my car and start walking towards the alley I passed. I pull my hood up to conceal my identity as much as possible.

I look into the alley and see a woman sitting down at the end. I’m assuming she got a little too drunk. I make my way to the woman, and she doesn’t even notice me in her drunken stupor.

I make my move and pull my knife out, quickly slashing her throat before she can scream. A clean kill. No screams, no witnesses, no mess. It's just like every other day.

I head left, down another alleyway, and walk to my car without raising suspicion. I then drive back home, taking my time on the roads and taking longer routes to view the scenery of the town. Soon, I arrive at my home and walk in as if nothing happened. I continue to my room and see that Andy is already asleep. I go to the bathroom and hide my items in my safe. I turn around and see Andy standing at the doorway.

“I thought you were asleep?” I say in horror.

“What’s up with the knife?” Andy replies in the same amount of horror. “Why do you have a knife?”

Andy grabs a pair of scissors off the sink and slowly walks towards me, pointing the scissors my way.

"Frank, tell me already. I saw what you did, I followed you. You killed that woman, and for what? For fun?" Andy exclaimed.

"It was never supposed to be like this. I knew you wouldn't understand. I have a good reason too, but it's not something you could ever understand. I'm sorry," I plead, "I'm so sorry."

I place my hands on the scissors in Andy's hand. Then, I quickly bring the knife to my chest, leaving a deep gash.

I look down at the gash in my chest in horror. I expect to feel pain, but there is nothing. All I see is my beautiful Andy getting his phone out and calling someone. I cannot hear anything he says. All I can hear is the pounding in my ears. My sight blurs, and I feel mighty faint.

Our young hearts have been rigged to explode. Always, we're left with nothing but pain in the end, they say. It is never the end, it’s always the beginning that is the most painful, the beginning of all things bad. The end of all things lived. Life is disastrous, much like love. We try and try to find more and think we find what we want, but we never do. All we find is suffering in it all. Life is but a merry-go-round rigged to explode. You look for your favorite animal to ride, but once you find it, everything dies.

I finally fall to the ground and my vision goes black.

“Goodbye, my love,” I say. Hopeless. Hopeless words falling upon a hopeless tongue told by a hopeless man. A hopeless life left to rot in a hopeless world.


“My client pleads insanity, your honor.” My lawyer says. It’s not a lie, I have felt insane since I killed the only person I ever loved. Frank has always been there for me, always helped me when I was sad, but now, now he’s gone. I lost my safety net to myself. I loved him, at least I thought I loved him.


I sit in my room, examining the white padded walls. White, white, endless, white, white. Oh god, is there no end?

As Frank always said, “The end leaves us empty, to ensure we fill our minds with hope. Without hope in the end, what was the point in life?”

I scream. Scream at the world, scream at Frank, scream at the scissors, scream at the walls, scream at life. It’s unfair. I plead insanity and got life for Frank’s crimes. They never believed me. How would they? I presented insane to them, and I was. I am insane. How would I not be?

I pray for injection instead of life, though I know it won’t happen. I’ve become death-obsessed.

Paranoid, feed the void, barbiturate, hallucinate. These are the only things I want to focus on. All I have left in life is to feed the void with my paranoia. They try to force me to relax, but there’s not a way to achieve that. I have to spend my days seeing Frank’s face everywhere I look. I try to pretend Frank was never a murderer. I keep my heart tied to a lie.

I look at the ceiling and whisper, “Having fun, friend? I hope so, but the fun is short-lived, just like everything else, because everything that ever is has to end.”

“Goodbye, my love,” I say, my voice faint.

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