A/N: Hi all! This is my first story posted here. I actually wrote it as my term paper for my English class and thought I could get more than just the teacher's feedback on it. So here it is. Enjoy and review! (constructive criticism is always welcomed!)

Summary: Stacey Campbell, a seventeen-year-old girl, has planned her own suicide from A to Z. But as usual, everything is not as perfect as it appears to be.

Themes: Suicide/ mother-daughter relationship

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From Aspiration to Zilch…

White. The most depressing colour had been chosen to cover the entire room: the walls, the bed sheets, the bedside table and even the curtains. A figure was standing by the bed, scribbling furiously on her notepad, while another one was smoothing down the bed sheets, making them look like they had always been that way. The clock on the bedside table read “21:45” and the small calendar reminded the two people in the room that it was Sunday, July 8th, 2001.

The door that had been left ajar opened all the way. A hoarse voice was heard saying: “They’re coming. Make sure everything is in order.” Each person nodded, sighed and waited for them to arrive.

One hundred thirty-three hours and fifty minutes. All that was left to Stacey’s life were those dreadful one hundred thirty-three hours and fifty minutes, which couldn’t seem to pass by quickly enough. She couldn’t wait to end it all, so that her entourage would understand that her life was far from being perfect. How people would be utterly shocked to hear that Stacey Campbell, a promising seventeen-year-old girl, had planned her own death from A to Z!

“She was always glowing, as if she didn’t have a worry in the world!” friends, teachers, neighbours or acquaintances would say, which wasn’t too far from the truth as far as school was concerned. She had good friends she could count on, a perfect boyfriend, excellent grades. Teachers simply adored her. The only thing that was missing from the equation that led to happiness was a family.

Only her closest friends knew that her father had died in a fight against lung cancer, ten years ago, but she doubted they knew the extent of her suffering. She had been seven at the time and had been devastated by the loss. Unfortunately, things had taken a wrong turn after that and nothing ever was the same. Only, Stacey did not know that along with her father’s death she would also lose her mother.

A small redheaded girl, who couldn’t have been older than eight years old, was walking down the street, her head bent. She had her little schoolbag on and tears were dripping down her face while her hands were desperately trying to wipe them away. She turned right at the corner of ’s and Georgia and looked up to see a beautiful house on her right. A lady, Mrs. Camden, was walking her dog on the lawn and smiled at the little girl. She frowned when she saw that the child was crying and addressed her directly, as if she knew her.

“Stacey? Come here, darling.”

The little girl did as she was told.

“Sweetheart. Why are you crying?”

Stacey’s lower lip trembled and more tears poured down her face.

“I – I- It’s my d-d-daddy’s birthday today…and – “ the little girl struggled to say, staring at her feet and fiddling with the hem of her dress.

“Oh, honey! I’m so sorry!” said Mrs. Camden, crouching, “You miss him, don’t you?”

Stacey nodded her head and ran into Mrs. Camden’s opened arms, nearly making the lady fall on her bum with the force of the impact. steadied herself and rubbed Stacey’s back, allowing the little girl to relieve her heart from the pain. Several minutes passed before the tears subsided. Dexter, the woman’s dog, licked Stacey’s hand, his little tail waggling happily. The pretty redhead gave a little laugh.

“Are you gonna be okay, hon?”

When she received a small nod in answer, the lady sent Stacey on her way home.

Stacey waved her hand, already making her way to her house, if somewhat slowly. When she arrived in front of the driveway, she started running towards the door and opened it, yelling:

“Mommy, I’m home.”

Receiving no answer, she moved towards the living room where she found her mother fast asleep. She tried to wake her up, but received a slap in the face. It stung.

“Stacey!? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see that mommy’s trying to sleep?”

Something was wrong, but Stacey couldn’t put her finger on it. Her mother was sprawled on the sofa. Only, that is not what cued in Stacey that things were not right. There was a funny smell in the house, seven or eight bottles were scattered on the kitchen counter, obviously empty and her mother had slapped her.

Her eyes started watering again and she began to cry.

“Aww..don’t be such a baby, Stacey! I’m trying to get better after daddy’s death and you can’t even let me sleep. You deserved that slap! As a matter of fact, if it weren’t for you, your father wouldn’t be dead. You killed him, Stacey, and you’ve ruined my life!”

“B-B-B-but daddy died of c-c-cancer,” replied the little girl, her voice quivering.

“That’s what the doctor told us, but it was your fault. Now, look what a mess you’ve made me!” The woman was in hysterics, waving her hands frantically around the room, indicating the mess. “I am a mess because daddy’s not here with us and that’s all because of you!”

By now, Stacey was sobbing uncontrollably. She ran upstairs to her bedroom and resumed her crying on her bed, while looking at the picture displayed on her bedside table. It was one of herself with her father, grinning at the person behind the camera. That person had been . A much happier .

This was the beginning of her mother’s drunken episodes. She started drinking, hoping to drown her sorrows, and at a time when Stacey desperately needed her mother, she had to rely on herself. Every day, after school, she would come home only to find her mother lying on the sofa with what she learned, as she grew older, were empty bottles of whiskey surrounding her. Mrs. Campbell simply couldn’t seem to hold her liquor. More often than not, Stacey was at the receiving end of the blows that went with it, for her mother always became violent.

As she grew older, Stacey learned to stay out of her mother’s reach when she was intoxicated and even though she didn’t let her mother lay a single finger on her, the psychological damage had been done. Stacey constantly felt worthless, like she did not belong in this world, like she wasn’t supposed to be alive. But more importantly, like she was the one who caused her mother so much pain. That was why she had decided to kill herself.

People wouldn’t understand her reasons for committing such an atrocious act, for seeing no other solution but to end it all. Her classmates wouldn’t realize that being popular did not necessarily mean a backstage pass to happiness. They wouldn’t understand that having friends and a boyfriend did not mean anything when you did not have any family left. When all you had been told by your own flesh and blood after your father’s death was that you had been a mistake. That by being a boy you would have made life easier on everyone and that by having supposedly caused your father’s death, you had destroyed your mother’s life.

Stacey had to show them how miserable she really was, how desperate she was for a better life, but more importantly, how oblivious everyone had been to her silent plea.

The suicide date had been carefully thought of: Friday, July 13th, 2001, at precisely 8:45 a.m. Why this very date? Because it was her birthdate. The day that had decided was the day she had apparently started getting miserable. The day where everything had to be stopped.

Everything was meticulously organized. Stacey was going to cut her wrists open on her bed, leaving it to her mother to find her in the morning. It would surely take a while before would take the time to climb the stairs or show an interest in what was happening to Stacey if she did not come down from her bedroom. Especially if she was already drunk at 8:45 a.m. That was when she could be the most hurtful. She was physically and verbally violent. But when she was sober, she left out the physical abuse and resorted to being mean to her daughter. The only time her mother was somewhat nice to her was when they were in the presence of other people, for she wished to keep up appearances in front of other adults.

Stacey walked down the stairs, ready for another day of school.

“Hi, mom!

Silence.

Her mother kept staring at the television screen, completely ignoring her daughter’s presence. Finally, she looked over her shoulder.

”Ready for another day of school?”

The odd way she said it indicated that she did not care if her daughter was ready or not for school.

“Ummm, yeah,” replied Stacey. “We’ve got cheerleader try-outs today and I’m hoping on making the team.”

Her mom snorted. “You’d have to eat less than that if you wanna make it, honey. It seems like you’ve gained weight. No one wants a fat cheerleader on the team.”

Everyone knew that Stacey was far from being overweight.

“Yes, mom. I know, mom.”

Stacey looked over at the clock and her eyes widened.

“Shoot! I’m gonna be late for school. Could you give me a ride, mom? Please.”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

The word “honey” rang in Stacey’s ears, for it betrayed no fondness. “It’s the perfect opportunity for you to start losing weight. A walk to school is going to do you good.”

“But I’m really going to be late,” Stacey pleaded. “And I’ve –“

“I don’t care!” her mother cut her off, “You should have thought about that earlier. Now go!”

She walked her daughter to the door and told her to go. Stacey grudgingly did as she was told, making her way to the end of the driveway.

Mrs. Campbell saw Mr. Flanders, her neighbour, looking over unabashedly. She waved, turned to her daughter and said to her as she neared the end of the Campbell property:

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride to school?”

Stacey looked disbelievingly at her mother. She turned around to see Mr. Flanders at the bottom of his staircase, openly staring at them. She immediately understood. She turned back to her mother.

“No, thanks, mom. Walking is good for my health, anyways!”

“Oh, okay then! Have a nice day, hon!”

Stacey could actually picture her mother’s fake smile plastered on her face. She was used to her mother’s way of acting by now, but it did not hurt any less. A lone tear made way down her face, which she hastened to wipe off before anyone noticed.

Her mother was the only bad figure in her life, but she had sufficed to drive Stacey to the grave. Friday, July 13th, 2001 would be engraved on her tomb forever. The only thing she had not yet prepared were the suicide letters, for she would address one to each of her closest friends. She would take the time to tell them exactly why she had decided to commit suicide, but she wanted to wait until the last minute before pouring her heart out in them.

For now, she had time to kill. She had decided to get drunk at one of her best friends’ parties: Glenda’s. She wanted to experience once what it felt like to be her mother, to be so intoxicated that she would start getting violent with her very own blood. But more importantly, she wanted to see if she would react to alcohol the same way her mother did: violently.

She took a flyer out of her jean pocket and looked it over. It read: “Sunday, July 8th, 2001, SUMMER PARTY. Starts at 7:30 p.m at Glenda’s. Swimming pool. Bring your own alcohol.”

Stacey looked at her watch. “19:59”. She had taken four minutes to muse over the events that made her life miserable.

She put the key in the ignition and started her Blue Mazda, having told her mother that she was going to the corner store to get some milk. She backed up to the end of the driveway and made her way to Glenda’s house. She turned on the radio, singing along with it.

In less than a week, her life would finally be over.

She drove in front of Mrs. Camden’s house and smiled, remembering the many times she had met the lady, the most vivid memory being on her father’s birthday, nine years ago.

She had started to veer left on ’s, when something caught her attention. She looked to the right, but was immediately blinded by the light coming from the headlights of another vehicle. She slammed on the brakes, but her car didn’t stop. A crashing noise resounded. White-hot pain shot through Stacey's body and suddenly, everything went blank.

White. The most depressing colour had been chosen to cover the entire room: the walls, the bed sheets, the bedside table and even the curtains. A figure was standing by the bed, scribbling furiously on her notepad, while another one was smoothing down the bed sheets, making them look like they had always been that way. The clock on the bedside table read “21:45” and the small calendar reminded the two people in the room that it was Sunday, July 8th, 2001.

The door that had been left ajar opened all the way and a hoarse voice was heard saying: “They’re coming. Make sure everything is in order.” Each person nodded, sighed and waited for them to arrive.

The first figure looked down at what she had written on her notepad. She had been given details as to what had transpired in the accident. According to the emergency call the hospital had received, there had been a terrible accident at the corner of ’s and Georgia. A drunk driver had lost control of his vehicle and had hit a blue Mazda, nearly killing the seventeen-year-old girl who had been driving the other car. The young woman had lost a considerable amount of blood and was grievously wounded, making the paramedics fear for her life.

The nurse was snapped out of her thoughts when a stretcher was rolled into the room.

A young woman explained to her: “There has been an accident. She was taken to the E.R. and needs to rest before Dr. Morris evaluates her condition. She’s allowed a visitor, but only if it’s family.”

The nurse nodded and with the help of the two other people in the room, put the patient in the bed. They had to be careful, for the teenager's head was covered in bandages and her foot was in a cast.

Fifteen minutes had passed and her condition had not changed. She hadn’t regained consciousness.

There was a knock at the door, and in came an unhappy looking woman. She turned to the nurse and asked if she could see her daughter, Stacey.

The nurse consented, gesturing for the lady to come in.

The mother approached the bed. She took her daughter’s hand in hers, taking a deep breath before asking the nurse what had happened.

“Your daughter was in an accident” the nurse informed her. “Considering she has lost a considerable amount of blood, we’re not sure if she’s gonna make it."

“Oh my goodness!” sniffed, “How could this have happened?”

“We were told that the man driving the other car was drunk.”

The mother seemed to wipe away tears.

The nurse put a comforting hand on Mrs. Campbell’s shoulder and told her: “If there’s anything we can do to help...”

Mrs. Campbell turned to her, opened her mouth, sighed and closed it. The nurse frowned. Mrs. Campbell’s breath smelled faintly of alcohol.

She shared a look with the other nurse in the room. She then told Mrs. Campbell that she needed to have a word with her.

Stacey’s mother seemed surprised, but agreed.

“I think that it would be better if you waited for your daughter in the waiting room. As soon as we get news from the doctor, we will send for you.”

“Can’t I stay with my daughter?” asked . “I’ve just got here and I know that she needs me.”

The nurses wearily agreed, seeing the state in which was. They decided it best to leave the room to allow them some privacy. Still, they left the door ajar in case something were to happen.

As soon as she thought they were gone, Stacey opened her eyes. She took a good look at her mother’s face and told her mother: “It’s okay, mom. You can stop pretending now.”

Her throat was sore and her breath was laboured, but she wouldn’t ask for a glass of water. Not to her mother.

Mrs. Campbell dropped her daughter’s hand. “What have you done this time, Stacey?”

“Weren’t you there when the nurse told you that I was in an accident, mom?” said Stacey, as if she were talking to a five-year-old.

“Of course I was there. She told me how you got yourself in an accident with a drunk driver. You should have been more careful. I told you you were not ready to drive yet!” replied Mrs. Campbell.

“Look at you, mom. I’m in the hospital and you still feel the need to patronize me. And,” she sniffed, “you’ve been drinking.”

“Why, you – “ began the mother.

“No, mom! Did you know that I had plans for killing myself?”

“Oh, honey.” There it was again, that word, “honey”. “Suicide is for cowards!”

Even at such a time, her mother did not feel any compassion towards her.

“What’s the matter with you, mom? After all these years, do you still believe that I’m responsible for dad’s death?”

“DO NOT talk to me about your father. Not today, not any other day.”

“I-I loved him as much as you did, mom! And I needed you when he left.” Tears were dripping from her eyes and her eyelids were getting heavier by the second, but she had to get it all out in the open. “But the only thing you did was reject me. You’ve –“ she cleared her throat, wincing slightly. “You’ve m- made me feel as if I d-didn’t deserve to live.”

The door creaked, but no one paid any attention to it.

“You keep telling me how I make you miserable so – “ she breathed noisily. She had to say it. “So, I w-was going to do you a favour and k-kill myself on Friday. And now, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to live to see tomorrow.”

Her mother frowned.

“You don’t get it, do you? If I die today, everyone will think it was because of the accident. No one will ever know that I actually wanted to kill myself. That Stacey Campbell, who appeared to have everything going for her, did not even get along with her mother.”

“What do you mean, we don’t get along?” asked her mother.

“Do you actually realize how badly you treat me, mom?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I treat you like every mother should treat her daughter. Just because I’m not always interested in what you do, doesn’t mean that I treat you badly.”

“No, mom. You treat me as if I were gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe." Stacey brought her hand to her mouth and coughed. She looked at her hand and grimaced at the sticky substance on it. "But you know what, mom? You were right. I am worthless. I am a good-for-nothing. I was not even able to kill myself, as I had originally planned. I’ll die before succeeding. So, I guess you were right all along.”

Stacey’s eyes slowly started to close and she was really tempted to just sleep off the pain that was shooting through her head. But something told her that she shouldn’t.

The door opened and the nurse strode into the room, accompanied by Dr. Morris. She glared at Mrs. Campbell, having heard the last part of her conversation with her daughter and told her to leave the hospital room, as she was disturbing her patient.

Dr. Morris examined the redhead and lifted her head. He noticed that there was blood at the back of her head, as well as on the white pillow. He glanced at Stacey’s face, which was dangerously white. She had lost consciousness. He instructed for the nurse to get another bandage but was interrupted by a loud beeping noise. He looked at the electrocardiogram heart monitor. They were losing her.

A few moments later, Stacey’s heart failed. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room to start it again.

“CODE BLUE! WE HAVE A PATIENT IN CARDIAC ARREST!”

The doctors did everything they could, but the defibrillator did not start Stacey’s heart again. She had already gone to a happier place.

The townspeople would mourn her death, oblivious to her previous suffering, for Stacey Campbell had planned her death from A to Z; from aspiration to…zilch.

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Prongsmate - 2007