Waiting For Hell

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You'd think that dying would be the end of it all. Not really. As the popular saying goes: "Death is just the beginning." Yes, that might be it. But then again, it isn't. For me it wasn't. Dying is not an achievement, although some people do think of it so. There is nothing beautiful about death. It has done nothing in the past except maybe cause pain to your loved ones or maybe joy to your enemies. How funny. Amusing really. I achieved neither when I died. Because no one cared.

Why did I die? Here goes: I killed myself. But it wasn't the end of me. Nope. But it wasn't the beginning either. It was something in between. But that's getting ahead of the story. Better leave that for later.

Why would I do a terrible thing like that? I don’t know, guess I was feeling “emo” at the time… But I think it all began with Jake. My boyfriend. Yeah, maybe…Hmm… But I think it really started long ago. When I was a little girl. I lived in a rough neighborhood. I was a scrawny kid, and a crybaby. Other kids would beat me up, and I never got good grades. My dad beat me up too. He was a drunkard and beat me and my mom. Yet, what I hated the most about him was that whenever he gets out of his drinking spells he would apologize, and then hug and kiss us, saying that he loved us and didn't mean it. I hated my life.

Apparently, my mom hated her life too. I probably inherited my suicidal behavior from her. I came home one day and I saw her in the shower, wrists slashed and blood everywhere. It scarred me for life. My dad though, was never the same after that. He still drank but he didn't beat me up anymore. He ignores me most of the time. But I can see it in his eyes. He hated me too. He tries to act like he cares for me. "Don't do drugs" and "Keep your grades up" stuff. But that's all a mask so that he can blame everything on me. He doesn't give a shit.

I grew to my teenage years without him. And so he hates me, eh? I'd show him. He will mourn the daughter he never truly had. But not yet. I just took his razor and carried it around since. I'll do it the same way as mom did. I carried the little blade everywhere. To school, to the mall, to bars, everywhere! I'm just waiting for a reason to actually do it. To my surprise, that day came when I turned sixteen.

But it wasn't because of my dad. Oh no, it was because of Jake. Jake, my perfect boyfriend. He betrayed me. You see, I've been rather harsh on Jake. He was getting upset with the things I did. Sweet, thoughtful Jake. He was so... righteous... He always scolded me for drinking and smoking. And I loved him even more for that. He was the only one who ever bothered to correct me. I would do anything for him.

Except for one thing: sex. No matter how much he pleaded, I didn't give in. He told me that he would use condoms and that he will pay for the hotel room and everything, but I still said no. I don't know for what reason I refused him. Maybe I was testing him, hell, maybe I was even testing myself. I'm still "chaste" you know. Or maybe I liked to see him suffer for me. No one would ever do that for me. Only Jake. Dear, confused Jake. I just found it hilarious that I was probably the only teenager that did shit and was still a virgin.

But he was very sweet about it. He told me that he would wait. He told me he loved me and wouldn't ever hurt me. And I would feel guilty. How can such a sweet guy end up with a girl like me? How could I torture him like that?

The little prick. I found him fucking a girl in the bathroom after school. Well, my eyes just fogged over! I threw him out with that skank he was with, and oh, how he pleaded for me to understand. What is there to understand? He broke his fucking promise. And I felt that he was the only one in the world who understood me, and loved me. It was all a fucking illusion. I ran to the cubicle and threw up in the toilet.

I cried bitterly. I did. I poured my heart out sitting in that little cubicle full of vandalism and stinking piss. How could he do that to me? Sweet, handsome Jake. He was everything that I ever wanted. I plunged my hand into my pocket and pulled out the little envelope where I kept Dad's razor. "When your alone" Was scrawled all over it.

Ah yes... I remember when I wrote it. The first time I laid my eyes on that razor. It was my first suicide attempt. The radio was playing at the time and just as I was about to make the first cut, a song rang out to me. It was some hit by Black Scizzors, "Alone" I think it was called.

Ha. Ha. I can't believe that my hand stayed from slashing right there and then because of a song. "When you feel all alone... and darkness has enveloped you... Just call out to me." I just stood there, enraptured. The blade hovering inches above my wrist. Then it came to the chorus. My favorite part actually. The chorus tends to be the best segment of any song... Check the lyrics out on some search engine if your interested! "Let me save you... Let me be there and break your fall... I'd heed your call..." I then thought of Jake at that very moment. "Let me take you from your solitude... from your sadness... this madness... I'm there, your not alone"

I had felt that day that he was the only one who could save me, even in my darkest hours. It was a myth that I veiled him with. He was my Prince Charming. My Angel of Light. My Knight in Shining Armor! He's always supported me, cared for me. It's been us for about two years now actually. At that moment, I thrust the blade into the envelope and wrote, "When your alone." Oh no, dying didn't go out of my head. I just thought I'd give more time. For Jake. I knew that we wont be together forever, and I knew that I wont be able to live without him.

But the joke's on me right? All the illusions shattered around me. Now was the time to do what I had always intended to do. I opened the envelope and saw the razor glinting evilly, beckoning me to use it, to tear at my flesh and taste my blood. I took it, letting my fingers caress its steely texture. Hmm... Do I have any last words? I wanted to jump out and scream: "Fuck you assholes! I'm gonna kill myself!" But I didn't say it. No, it should come as a complete surprise!

I stood poised, waiting. I had my second thoughts. This is some big shit! Do I want to do this? Well, duh! I slashed. I slashed so suddenly, so deeply, that I was surprised at my own ferocity. I didn't feel a thing. It was too sharp you see. I did it, over and over again, the razor digging into my wrist, severing my veins... Blood spurted, running down my arms, staining my shirt. And then, I died.

Everything just went black. And then, here comes the weird part, I was awake. I stood up and looked around. I wasn't in the bathroom anymore. I was in some sort of warehouse. "Where the hell am I?" But then something struck me: Am I in hell? Hmm... Don't think so... I looked at my wrist. They were open. The wounds were still there, but strangely dry. It was as though there was nothing left of my blood in it. Shit, I was dead.

I looked around the warehouse. Crates, hordes of them, towered above me. Some were covered with a thin bubble plastic, the type you use when your wrapping a fragile object or something. Then I saw some light in the far corner, behind the giant crate in front of me. It was a blinding bright light. Then something occurred to me. Something I always see in movies. The "light at the end of the tunnel". Interesting. Well, I'm different am I not? Why wouldn't it be a warehouse instead of a tunnel?

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The band Black Scizzors and lyrics for "Alone" was created by me for this story. Any similarity to a real band and song is coincidental! In other words, you can't find it in a search engine.