The Beginning to my End

A young teenager who realizes that his life isn't worth living anymore so he decides to end it.

            I looked in the mirror, face to face with my tear-stained reflection. My eyes, once a blue brighter than the sky, scan my thin features and paling brown hair. Papa told me boys don’t cry. Actually, he told me not to cry. He’d hit me and mom, seeing if I would, and hit us more if I did. Finally, after years of abuse and torture, he finally left. But he’s probably the main reason why I’m so messed up.

            The water from my eyes has slid down to my chest, wetting my t-shirt. I slip it off, seeing scars of the past and fresh cuts and bruises from the present. Memories flash before me seeing those marks and how I got them. Papa hitting, smacking, destroying me and mama.Him leaving me and mama at last, but only to be replaced by another threat to me.My step-dad, Brick, touching me, gripping me, telling me things I didn’t want and… other unmentionable things.  And me, cutting myself from a young age, about 9 to 10, to mask the pain I was really feeling. Years of slicing my skin have gotten me nowhere. 

            I’m so sick of myself. Sick of not being able to stop this madness.Sick of not helping myself. Sick of knowing there’s no way out. Being pushed and beaten around like a rag doll, almost tortured to the point of insanity, slicing my skin like a piece of meat, and nobody can see me and my pain. I’m sick of all this crap. I just want to end it all.

            Something snapped in me and halted my sudden whiplash of everything that I’m sick of. I just want to end it all. I could’ve cheered in happiness in the simple solution to the pain I’ve been in for all my life. Just ending it! And I know where I could spend my dying moments of my crappy life.

            I put on a grey hoodie and some shoes from some unknown brand, wipe the drying tears and other gunk from my face, and quickly grab my lighter and a pack of cigarettes.  Soon, I’m rushing out of my room and down the stairs, trying to make a run for it unseen by mom or my little sister, Barbra. But, of course, she had to be there.

            She had scampered in between me and the door, my only available exit. We had a stare-down, her innocent 4-year-old eyes filled with wonder as she tried to read my expressionless face, half of it being covered by her light blonde hair. Looking at her makes me pity her, knowing what a cruel, meaningless life she has born into. But I still can’t back out from my plans. I’ll miss her and hope she can fight for herself when I am gone.

            “Wha’ cha’ doin?” she asks me in her fairy like voice.

            “I’ll be gone for a while, Barbra. Just… stay here. I’ll be back soon… maybe.” I stutter out, knowing she can read through my lie. But she lets it pass and gives me a sickening sweet smile.

            “Alright. But be back soon because daddy want to show ya’ somethin’. But he said it’s a surprise so don’t tell him I told ya’.” She whispers and moves out of my way.  I shudder, already knowing what the “surprise” is. I practically ran out of the house so I don’t vomit in front of her, memories of other “surprises” he’s given me and pray to any god that she won’t ever receive them herself.

            As soon as I’m at least three blocks away or so, I let it all out.  It’s a disgusting smell, something between sour milk and blood. I wipe my mouth off with my sleeve and hurry away. I struggle to breathe as I stumble away. As soon as I’m as far away to where I can’t smell the stench, I pull out a cigarette out and shakily light it with my unsteady hands, still clammy from throwing-up.

            A lot of people tell me I shouldn’t smoke, but if they were in my shoes and dealt with the crap I go through and only have cutting and smoking as their only comfort, I wouldn’t tell them to stop. It’s their choice.

            I carefully stick it in my mouth and take a deep drag from the paper philter, mentally and physically relaxing as the smoke burn my throat and lungs. Something about this really takes a lot of anxiety away. But still not enough to lower my suffering. I continue down the streets and out of my neighborhood, cigarette in my mouth and a destination in mind.

            It’s almost dark when I’m there. An old, burnt down house right outside my neighborhood. Random bits and chunks of wall, photographs, glass, and other burnt objects lie here and there. I pick up a small one, a girl with dark skin and a bright smile is hugging a large dog, maybe a lab of some sort. I chuckle. I used to know her.

            Her name was Madelyn Sparks, my best and only friend. I could tell her anything. The times my dad hit me, the time Brick had touched me, my self-harm and dreams I knew would never accomplish. I told her it all and made her promise never ever EVER to tell anyone. And she still hasn’t. But she never really got a chance to.

            Madelyn died in a house fire with her dog, Bugs. The smoke and flames had trapped them in her bedroom and suffocation killed her and her dog because the firemen couldn’t get to them fast enough.  When they told me the news I was a wreck. I wouldn’t eat, drink, sleep, move, anything. I could’ve died if Brick hadn’t noticed I wouldn’t put up much of a fight anymore. He had taken me to the doctor who had fed and hydrated me as well as give me some anti-depressants, which I never took because they didn’t work. After that is when I realized that Brick didn’t care if I lived or died, just that I was still fun to “play” with.

            I can feel nausea come over me for a few seconds. Thankfully it passes. My legs are wobbly and I’m starting to feel tired. Well, let’s get this over with. See you soon Madelyn. I go looking around for something sharp until I find a shard of glass, about 5inches long with a thin, slick edge to it, like a knife. Perfect.

            I hold it up to my wrist, pressing it against the blue veins running up and down my skinny arm. My pale flesh seems to be luminous in the moonlight that is reflecting off the glass making me shudder. I hadn’t even realized it was this late. Is this really what I’ve come to, this situation, right smack in the middle of life and death? I think to myself. Tension surrounds me and the glass. The glass, the barrier to death, the answer to my problems.You’ve come too far now. There’s no turning back. So, any regrets?

            I pressure the glass more up against my skin; already it’s marking me as I answer my final question.No. And I’m at it, pressing against the glass until the skin breaks. Blood colors the glass as I press it harder. Soon a loud POP! is heard and blood is spitting from my wrist or streaming in globs and staining the ground.

Never in my life have I’ve cut this deep. Never have I seen so much blood. Never have I been this terrified. And never have I been this happy.

I start laughing like a lunatic at how giddy I am at the thought.  How good this feels.  How happy, no, excited to leave, to go forever. No coming back. The end is finally coming closer and closer. But just not fast enough.

I grip the glass a little tighter.  Not near fast enough… I think on impulsiveness, and before I know what’s going on, I’m gorging out my wrist and chunks of my bloody arm meat fall to the ground. It hurts this time and causes the world to be dizzy so I lie on the ground. As soon as I’m down, I find it was a bad idea because the blood-soaked ground soaks through my hoodie and the smell of flesh fills my nostrils. But I don’t have the strength to move. Soon, the world is blacking out and bits of my life flash before my eyes. And it’s all horrible. 

All the times my dad abused me and my mom. All the times I was tortured at school, by bully, teacher, or adult. All the times I was touched by Brick. And receiving the news that Madelyn had died. It all runs through my head and soon they’re all gone. Death has token them away from me so that I can rest in peace without worry that I’ll relive a nightmare for the rest of my life.   

Finally, I’m officially dying, and I’ve never felt this safe. So warm and cold at the same time. Many emotions that are can’t be described run through my body as my vision goes completely black and my conscious is fading away. A bright light appears before me at the end of a dark tunnel and I hear a girl laughing and the happy bark of a dog. Both are familiar. But the light is too bright to see anything.

“Come on, Jesse! Hurry up! I’ve missed you so much.” Madelyn’s voice speaks through the light, her dog barking in agreement. I blindly run toward the sound. And there she is, her ebony skin as beautiful as ever and her hair darker than black. And her smile, brighter than the sun. The only thing that really has changed is that she looks a little older.  Bugs’ tail wags happily at me, his golden fur all over the place. She motions me forward. I run down the tunnel, getting closer and closer to my Heaven. 

Soon, I at the end of the tunnel and her arms open wide, inviting me in for a hug. Tears of joy stream down both of our faces as I run into her arms.

 “It’s okay Jesse. You’re safe. Your home” Madelyn whispers into my neck. At her words, an eternal joy and brightness surround us. Finally, I’m gone. It’s all over. The pain and suffering is done. I don’t have to worry. I don’t have to be sad. I don’t have to be scared. I’m finally safe. I have finally come to what has been awaiting me for forever. It’s my end now.

 

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                Zawnella looks at her work in amusement. Her two friends, Forrist and Left, peers over her shoulder.  Left’s face holds a mortified expression while Forrist scans it over and over again with a grim expression until he finally decided to speak. He puts his glasses a little up his nose before speaking.

                “Umm, Z, you do know that people that commit suicide don’t go to heaven, right?” He says with a monotone like voice, slower and deeper than usual.  Zawnella rolls her eyes in and sighs with exaggeration.

                “I know, but still, I didn’t want to leave it at some depressing ending where you don’t know what happens. Anyways, it was the only way I knew how to actually make him die happy I don’t want it ALL to be tragic.” Zawnella replied before scanning over her work again. Forrist pursed his lips tightly together and furrowed his brow, looking at Left through the corner of his eyes, which looked as if he were going to speak. His mouth opened and closed a few time like a gaping fish until noise finally came out.

                “Well, the whole thing is just awful in a good way. Seriously, where do you come up with this?” he mumbled, pushing his reddish, gold hair out of his dark face to get a better look at Zawnella. She just huffed and got up from her typing desk and paced the room.

                “Well, sorry for making it so… depressing, Boss wants a good story by Monday, and this was the first thing that came to mind! I don’t see YOU having a better idea.” Zawnella snapped at Left, who cowered in fear. Forrist looked amused at her uprising and quickly walked over to calm the steaming girl. 

                “Zawn, it’s okay. Left was just trying to say that it’s very… interesting in a gruesome way.” This seemed to have calmed the girl a slight bit.  

                “Yeah, I was trying to say that. But I do have an idea for a story to right for Boss on Monday!”  Left squeaked happily and ran to Zawnella’s computer, created a new writing tab, and started writing. This sudden burst of happiness caused Zawnella to frown. Cautiously, she and Forrist walked over to see his work.

                As soon as they reached touching distance, Left had exclaimed an “I’m done with it, now, READ!” and hurriedly pushed both of their faces to the screen to where they could read it. This is his story.

 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

I’m A Cat by Left Maribleu.

Meow. I’m a cat. All I ever do is eat, sleep and lick my butt. I love to eat, sleep, and lick my butt as much as get my person’s bed filled with fleas. Meow.

 Now I see a mouse. Eh, I’m too much of a lazy cat to get it. ‘Come closer mousey… NO! NOT THE MOUSE TRAPS! Darn. Stupid mouse.’

I tempt the dog a lot and see if he’ll eat me.  ‘Come here you stupid mutt. Wait… Where’s your leash? Oh crap!’  I now cower in fear when I see dogs.

Now I’m going to go lick my butt and sleep.  ‘The end.’

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

                By the time Forrist has read it, Zawnella and Left are laughing their heads off.

                “God, Left, You are so stupid…” Forrist quietly muttered after their laughter started to die down. But soon Forrist cracked a smile with his friends. ‘I hope Boss likes cats’ Forrist thinks to himself as he secretly sends the writing to him. ‘Now, to wait until Monday…’