I looked down at the bustling city. Bright lights shone with Christmas spirit, small humans hustled from here to there, looking like little plastic dolls. Cars drove by beeping, too, looking like toys. A bone-chilling breeze blew past me. Shivering, I hunched over and put my hands into my sweatshirt pocket. I was dressed in light clothes of sneakers, a sweatshirt, and jeans, but I didn’t really care – I’ll soon be dead anyway. I leaned heavily on the rail, sighing nervously. I was about to end my life, by jumping off this nine story building. My father was drunk, as usual, my mother was out with her friends, and my older sister was celebrating with her boyfriend and his family. Nobody cared about what I wanted to do. Nobody would even wonder where I am till morning. Nobody ever cared about me, nobody ever will.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath of cold air. I put my hands on the rail and carefully climbed over it, so that I was standing on the other side, the side where death was waiting. I held onto the rail behind me tightly and looked down again. The world seemed to be swimming and I realized I was crying. Here I was, going to commit suicide, and nobody even felt a twinge of worry. Especially him - him who hurt me deeper than my family or bullies, him who broke my heart to pieces and ruthlessly ground them to dust. I took another deep breath, let go of the rail, and jumped. Air whistled past my ears as I flew down – everything became a blur before my eyes, and before I could even think, horrible pain wracked my body for some horrible seconds and then everything went dark.
I heard a crowd of people around me, some women weeping, some mutters, and most of all – the wailing of ambulance. I opened my eyes and looked around. I felt numb and…light, as if I didn’t weight anything. I stood up and for a moment I thought that maybe I didn’t go through the suicide attempt, but had passed out on my way to the building. Nobody was looking straight at me though. They were looking at the ground beneath my feet. Curious, I looked down.
It was my own body. Blood spattered around, I was lying on the ground face down, dead. Staggering back, I brought a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes as a wave of memories hit me like bricks. Kneeling down I whimpered in terror and loss. I felt like I’ve done something beyond stupid, something I will never be able to overwrite. I opened my eyes again, watching the scene playing on before me. Medics came over to the body, slowly turning it over, a woman gasped. My face wasn’t visible behind the blood – it was just a mush. Something took over me, and howling, and fled from the place. Racing through the streets, I thought everything was lost, I berated myself, and I wept. I didn’t even notice myself coming onto a highway. I saw a bright light, and turned to look to my left. A car was speeding towards me – I didn’t have time to react – it went right through me and on forward. I stumbled. I wept even more.
I went home. I went through the front door and walked into our living room. Dad was lying on the couch drinking from a beer bottle, watching Steelers. I stepped forward and sat down next to him. I shook his shoulder, but it didn’t make any difference – my hand went through. I curled up on the sofa staring all the time at Dad.
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” He started at my words and looked around. I brightened. Maybe he can hear me?
“Dad, can you hear me?” He squinted, as if concentrating, then shrugged and lay back down. I stood back up again and went to my room, curling up on my bed, facing the wall. Somehow, I fell asleep.
I woke up the next night. Wind whistled outside and when I looked out, snow was falling from the sky in thick clumps. I sat up, then got off the bed and walked out of the room. I heard silent weeping of Mom downstairs, and struck with curiosity, went down. Again, my family was gathered in the living room. Mom was crying into her hands, hunched over a photo of my dead body. Dad was hugged her shoulders biting his lip. Nina was absent. I got over to the sofa and went on my knees before my parents, feeling more like a sinner than I have ever before.
My mother used to read me Bible every night before I turned 12, before she realized I didn’t believe any of the stuff anyway. Now, I feel like everything written there was so right, like I really have done a sin instead of finding a way out. I hang my head and whispered, “Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Tears spilled down my cheeks and I looked up at my parents. They hadn’t heard me, couldn’t see me.
>>Five years later<<
I sat next to mother as she filled out another police report. She was biting the tip of her pen, her long hair neatly made into a bun. She and dad had gotten over my death some time ago, and had managed to celebrate last Christmas jovially. Nina was deep into her college work, but had already gotten married to her boyfriend – they were going to have a baby soon. Dad was still drinking – but that isn’t surprising. Everything was as good as it could be…Except that I was dead. I remember my burial. The coffin was a rich black color, and I was dressed into a dress that I have never seen in my life – it was ankle long and a deep lavender color with deep violet satin frills starting from my neck collar to my waist, as well as on my sleeves. My face was not recognizable, but my long black hair was brushed out and arranged to be seen on my shoulders, with my hands folded together on my breasts. The burial was silent and depressing, the tension was so thick one could cut it. I stood next to the coffin and cried, understanding now that I had done a terribly wrong thing.
My parents and sister were there, my grandfather, some of my classmates – outcasts just like me, and most of all him. He had made my life living hell and now he had the courtesy to come to my burial! I switched from one emotion to the next, raging and glaring at him. I was always a scapegoat in school, but he has hurt me deep to the heart. No, he first won my heart, and then ripped it to bits and ground it to dust. I thought he was that one person I would love, who would love me for who I am, but it turned out to be a joke, a prank. A dare. He was one of the reasons I felt hopeless with life, he was one of the reasons I was dead now. I even tried to push him in the fury of my emotions.
I looked shyly up at him, he was smiling gently down. I wondered what he found in me – I was short, chubby, long tangled black hair, pale, emo. He was tall, handsome, and confident. He had friends, I had none. We were total opposites, yet I love him more than anything.
“What is it? You told me to come here, love…” I raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. He smiled even wider, but something was strange about the smile. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t joyful, it was…mocking. Inside, I suddenly froze at the realization that he was mocking me. I felt cold.
“You really think I love you don’t you freak.” Those words felt like being burned, I felt like I was falling, falling.
“You think I really mean this all – these love letters, these nice words, these gentle hugs? I don’t. Who would ever like an outcast like you fatty? It was just a dare, and I won, so I don’t have to stick around your ugly face anymore.” He leaned down and patted me on the cheek slightly, then turned around and simply walked away. I felt breathless. I felt worthless. Biting my lip, I turned around and tried to soften my sobs, walking away as well.
>>End of Flashback<<
The next couple of years my parents – especially my mother – cut off from social life, despairing because of my suicidal death. I stood next to them, I followed with their routine, but I also watched after Nina. Her boyfriend loved her more than life, I could feel that. He would go to the end of Earth if she would want him to. She loved him back just as dearly. They married. They had the same interests. She was pregnant from him, carrying a baby girl. Everything was going well in my family’s life after five years. I was the only one lonely. At first I despaired and berated and did anything one can do to scold themselves. Then I got used to the fact and simply went on, watching my family live on and be happy. This was Hell. I was being tortured every minute, every hour, and every day by thoughts of what my life could have been and how I had ruined it forever.
Gasping, I shot up in the bed, tears pouring down my cheeks. With trembling hands, I wiped off my cheeks and covered my face. It was still the middle of the night and snow was gently drifting down on earth.
“Just a dream, it was just a dream.” I whispered to myself, and to make sure, touched the wall next to my bed - as solid as a wall can be. Flopping back down on my bed, I sighed. No, I was not going to commit suicide. The dream showed me what it might be like, and I did not wish to check if it was true or not. I’ll get through my problems eventually, and I, too, will find myself a person that understands me. He won’t stand in my way anymore. After all, I would be a fool and a coward to give up after just a puny attempt at breaking me.
This hadn't happened to me, if you're wondering, it's a fictional story. In fact, this is written for one of our users, Hero .