So this is what it’s like to be preparing one’s self for death, thought a fifteen year old perfectionist.

Anthony held the razor in his hand and tossed it back and forth. He had sharpened it lovingly, with care and grimly, making it as sharp as the kind of blades that are used to hack through the jungle.

He didn’t really know why he was about to commit suicide. He figured that it was a mix of feeling worthless, feeling not good enough, feeling like he just wasn’t the person that he wanted to be. And Anthony didn’t know how to change it; he just couldn’t figure it out.

Anthony took a pad of paper and a pen, and began to write his suicide note. He had fantasized before about what he might write as a suicide note.

To whoever finds me first,

‘When a new day’s begun, forget your son while he’s out on his own’--“Neverender, Coheed and Cambria.”

I’m only leaving this note because you might not count it as a suicide otherwise, and if nothing else, at least I’d like to be a statistic.

Look. I know that this will hurt some people. Maybe a lot of people. Like Mom and Dad and my siblings and my friends, and the rest of the family.

I’m having a serious mental block. Hold on a sec, and I’ll be right with you.

Ok.

Suicide is the best way, I think, to get rid of my faults. If there isn’t a me, my faults will also disappear, and therefore it makes the world a better place. Besides, it’ll decrease the surplus population, and some Chinese kid can eat. Or maybe a West Virginian.

No regrets from

Anthony.

PS: I’m sorry about leaving such a mess, but there isn’t a gun in the house, pills just don’t work for me…..the mop is right here in case you need it, k?

Anthony raised the razor to his left wrist, where there was a dashed line across his vein, where he could cut along the dotted line. He smiled for the last time as he thought that. His humor had always been a little weird.

He slashed his wrist up once, twice, three times. He watched the crimson blood pour out, and Anthony felt faint. He started to mop up the mess, but just a few seconds later, he passed out, landing on his back in his puddle of blood, staining ash blonde hair and pale skin. His hazel eyes closed for the last time, shedding a tear.

No regrets, he thought. None.

“And if I did, he said out loud, “I don’t have any time to do anything about it.”