My Story

A Story by Alaska Reed

I am writing my story. Not because I want to but because I was told that I should. I also have nothing else to do. I was told my story is interesting. Not in a happy interesting way but it a depressing awful interesting way. So if you don’t want to read it I don’t mind. I would not want to read it either. But here it is.

My story starts out just like any other day, because for me it was. This took place exactly one month ago. I went to school on September 21, 2013 just like every day. I went through most of my classes falling asleep or keeping myself occupied by flirting with the nerdy boys in my classes who couldn’t help flirt, or attempt to flirt, back. About lunch time I started feeling a little bit like vomiting so I went to the clinic. I told the fat woman at the desk, and she let me go home. I texted my sisters to tell her to get a ride home because I couldn’t drive her. That was all the normal part. It was what happened next that made me how I am now. I know I have changed because people tell me. The people who used to be my friends told me that before they stopped talking to me. My boyfriend told me that before he dumped me, but who can blame him? I would have dumped me.

Anyway, let me give you a little detail first. When you walked into my old houses’ front door, the first thing you would see is the kitchen. So on that dreadful afternoon, I do the thing I most regret. I walked through that goddamn door.

When I walked through I saw my parents walk off their chairs holding hands. I saw them see me and as they were stepping I saw sorrow and determination. Then I saw nothing. They were dead. In a matter of one second I saw both my parents, and everything I knew die.

I didn’t scream or cry initially. I simply pulled out my phone and called the police. I know I wasn’t crying because the police had recorded my call and later that day I listened to it about one hundred times trying to hear my parents breathing in the background. I know it was unrealistic to hear them breathing but when someone is gone you just want to hear them one last time. After I got off the phone with the police, I stared at my parents for a long time. Both of them hanging there so limply. But I wouldn’t call it peacefully. My mother’s body looked extremely frail hanging there and her arms were too long for her body, which I had never noticed until then. My father looked more normal. His body looked the same as it did before “the incident”. That’s what people call it now. My “incident”. No one can say are you ok that your parents killed themselves. They think it will make me feel sad. As if anything they say could make me feel any worse than watching the life leave my parents eyes.

Then I did something odd. I cut the neck from around their neck and sat them on the ground. My mother’s head on my father’s shoulder. The way they always used to sit. Arms intertwined and my mother’s legs tucked behind her. Then I sat with them and asked them why they did it. Neither answered me. I felt uncomfortable so I started to hum and I laid my head on my mother’s lap. I don’t remember that part but that’s what the police told me I was doing.

The police asked me if there were inicators they were going to kill themselves. I said no because I honestly didn’t see any. But by that point I didn’t care. The police told me my parents died instantly with no pain. I said I already knew that. I knew they died without pain cause I could see it in those last seconds of their lives. There was no pain. No pain that they were leaving their children to no one, with no one, for absolutely no reason. They had no pain while leaving at all. They felt nothing. This is exactly what I feel all the time. Nothing. Never happy nor sad. I am not angry at them anymore because I don’t care about them anymore. I am going to grow up. Maybe. And do something with my life. Maybe. And they won’t get to see any of it. I will get married one day. Maybe. And they won’t walk me down the aisle or meet their grandchildren. Maybe; something I never used to think about. Just a word people used to fill spaces. The day my mother killed herself; she dropped me off and said,

“maybe I will see you around some day.”

I thought she was kidding. Now I hope she is wrong. I don’t want to go where she is. I don’t want to see her.