Im listeing to sad songs and happy songs and reading suicide stoies on polyvore...
It’s 10:53 pm on a Sunday night. You’ve already said goodnight to your parents and siblings. Your door is locked and they think you’re sound asleep. You sit at your desk, twirling a pen in your hand. You stare at the blank piece of paper as the tears refill your eyes for the fifth time tonight. You don’t want to do it without writing a goodbye letter. You want to make sure your family knows why you did it. The tears fall onto the paper and you can’t help the frustration as the droplets begin to ruin the paper. You crumble it up and break down even harder. You realize you can’t write the letter, so you look in the mirror once more & watch as your final tear falls. Only a couple moments later your heart stops and the blood escapes your body to create a puddle on the floor.
But nobody is going to care, right?
It’s now 6:47 am, Monday morning. Your mother waits downstairs in the kitchen to give you your lunch money. She’s already late for work but she doesn’t want you to stress about making lunch for yourself. She doesn’t know what’s taking you so long. She yells your name a couple times, but there’s no response. She has no idea your cold dead body is lying in your bedroom. She thinks you slept in, so she runs up the stairs and knocks on your door. But still, there is no answer. She opens the door and screams, horrified. She runs to you and holds your body. The tears seem like a waterfall, everlasting. She sits there with you cradled in her arms for a good hour, until she has the strength to get up and call your father. Your father rushes home, and they cry together. They pick up your siblings from school and try to explain to them what has happened. Your older brother runs out of your room and into his. He slams the door. He thinks its all his fault. He’s always picked on you, calling you names and starting arguments just to push your buttons. He punches his walls and allows the tears to pour out of him. Your little sister doesn’t understand. She asks if it’s because she always tries to steal your stuff or because she never leaves you alone when you have your friends over. It’s hard to explain something like this to a six year old.
But she probably wouldn’t care anyways, right?
It’s now Wednesday and your mom finally goes to your school. She hasn’t left the house since you took your life, but she knew she had to go. She enters your classroom to only see the teacher sitting at her desk grading papers. It’s 12:19 pm so your classmates are sitting in lunch. Your teacher greets her and asks where you’ve been. Your mother bursts into tears and your teacher automatically is astonished. She has no idea what’s wrong, but she tries to comfort your mother. Your mom begins to explain what had happened, and your teacher cries too. She begins to have flashbacks of all the times she yelled at you for not paying attention and not doing your homework. She thinks it’s her fault for being to hard on you. Your classmates return and are confused. A couple students recognize your mom and want to say hi, but they sense something is wrong. Your teacher calls the vice principal and principal in and your mom explains. Everyone in the classroom is now crying, even the annoying boy that sat behind you and threw gum in your hair is crying, thinking it's his fault. Even the popular girl that wouldn’t give you the time of day is crying, thinking it’s her fault. Even the nerd that wouldn’t let you copy his homework is crying, thinking it’s his fault.
They’re probably all faking, because nobody actually cares, right?
A week has gone by and it’s time for your funeral. Nobody has ever seen one this large. Almost every kid in your school and their families are there. Actually almost anyone you’ve come into contact with has come. It’s like a pool of black as one looks over the people sitting in the chairs as your dead corpse lies in the casket. People go up to speak. And after every speech everyone begins to cry even harder. Even the emotionless jock is in hysterics. The funeral lasts many hours; nobody wants to get up, to move on, to accept what has happened is real life.
All of them are just too lazy to get up, because they obviously don’t actually care, right?
It’s now been a month since your death. None of your family members have been in your room. The door remains shut. Your mom goes up to your dad and whispers, “it’s time”. Your dad looks at her with his lifeless eyes, nods, and slowly rises from the kitchen table. They enter your room slowly. Just stepping inside of it gives your mother the chills. Your father holds your mom as she begins to tear. He’s trying to be strong, but he can’t, soon the tears swell up in his eyes as well. They begin to pick up your clothes, dust your shelves, and make your bed. The stain on your carpet from your blood has been covered with a rug. Neither of them goes near it. They clean in silence for the next hour.
They don’t care that you’re gone; they just didn’t want a messy room, right?
Another week goes by. Your brother passes your room and hears crying coming from inside. He opens the door to see your little sister sitting on your bed clutching your favorite pillow. He runs to her and they cry together. Soon your mother and father have joined them. Your father jokes, “this bed is not big enough for four of us” and everyone laughs. You know, that’s the first time your family has laughed since you died. The first time a smile has even crept on their faces. They hug each other and your mother says, “we’ll get through this, someday…”
You thought nobody would care? Well, you were wrong.