Title: Sunset Suicide
Fandom: Original
Author: Gothatheartholo
Rating/Warning: PG13 for the subject of suicide and morbid (black) humor
A/n: … exploring things.

----

A black-haired girl, adorned in baggy pants and a large white shirt, sat on the stairs of a school building. She stared at the sky and saw the sun slowly sinking, the colors of blue morphing into several shades of yellow, orange and red…

She smiled. School was out at last.

“And there’s nobody around,” she mused aloud, looking at the empty streets. The only sounds she could hear were the whooshing of the winds and the rolling of the crumpled paper balls. Once one of them reached her, she picked it up, straightened it out and started to read it. The first thing she noticed was the curvy handwriting, so she figured this person was probably an organized individual. She imagined the writer probably being one of the teachers. Maybe the teacher was writing letters or--

No.

Her eyes widened in shock as soon as she realized the content of this letter was nothing like her imagination. It said:

Dear reader,

If you are really reading this letter, you’re probably just bored. I don’t think people would care enough to really pick up a piece of trash and read it, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, right?

Anyway, you must be wondering what the letter’s about. It’s really nothing, just a basic confession. No, it’s not one of those stupid short suicide notes that are… short, because that would be tedious, you know? This one’s going to be long and dragging because you’d probably wonder what kind of a sick person would write this kind of stuff, but I might as well tell you a few things about myself.

See, I’m a writer. Yeah, a writer. No, I didn’t get any of my works published. I just like to write. I like words. I like how they do all sorts of things. People say that actions speak louder than words, but that’s kind of relative, you know.

So yeah, I think that’s enough info. If you got this far, you’re probably still waiting for the confession, right? Okay. My confession, well, it’s like this:

I was standing in front of the school, watching people go. Soon enough, there weren’t many people around and the wonderful thing about Roland High School was that you can actually see the sunset. So I saw the sunset. It was really just…beautiful, even better than those paintings, because you have the real thing happening right in front of your eyes.

But it made me realize a lot of stuff. School’s always been hell and I’m stuck in a position where I don’t really know what I’m doing. It was in that moment, I decided to commit suicide. How? When? I didn’t know. But I was going to do it, because… it’s complicated.

See, like I said, I’m in a position where I’m kind of… lost, I guess. I mean, everybody’s lost and at some point, people all want to commit suicide because they want to give up. They’re a bunch of cowards, blah, blah, blah and did I mention, losers? Yeah. ‘Cause they’re not thinking right. They’re not thinking of how it would affect everybody else.

Well, in my case, I never thought right, anyway. I always feel like I’m pretending to be somebody I’m not. See, there’s this one image I have, near perfection, you know? The ideal self and on the other end of the scale is someone who I do not want to be. I’m kind of in the middle, which seems fine, for some people maybe, but it’s pretty unstable, not knowing who you are, why you’re here, what’s your purpose.

Those big questions of life…

So that’s why I wanted to commit suicide. Because there’s no point. It’s not so much that life is meaningless and everything is dull, but the fact that it’s really pointless. Everything you gain you will lose. It kind of means the same thing, but not. People struggle so hard to be who they are, to try to find their way, to the point that it confuses them.

That’s me.

And I’m tired. It’s not that I can’t live up to the expectations of that ideal someone, it’s just that I find it hard to be myself and even if I have friends, even if I have a loving family, it feels like I’m in a box and I can’t get out. It doesn’t matter who I am, what I am, it matters that I’m trapped.

Surrounded. Cornered.

But when I look at the sunset, everyday in this school, it always seems to mock me of the freedom I could have had. Sometimes I’d imagine that I have wings, just to fly, to go beyond. Ha, ha, pretty silly, huh?

Don’t worry, I’m almost done with my confession.

I’m also aware that I’m going to hell because of this. Suicide’s a sin, obviously.

But once again, don’t worry, whoever’s reading this, I’ll probably see you on the other side, someday. By the time you finish reading this letter, going through a shock of sorts, I’m probably dead. I estimated that it would take maybe around five to ten minutes to read this.

So, dear reader, that’s my story, but I’ll leave you with something to think about:

To be or not to be.

-the Suicidal One

PS. If you’re wondering where my corpse was (was, because I’m pretty sure I’m dead by this time), it’s behind the school, where you can’t see the mocking sunset. Fucking sunset.

PPS. No, I am not a whiny teenager trying to get attention. I’m merely a writer.

PPPS. That’s all. Thanks for reading!

As soon as the girl finished reading the letter, she didn’t chanced to think. In a rush, she went to the back of the school and saw, to her disbelief, another black-haired girl, but she was tall, with long wavy hair. What disturbed her was the fact that they wore the same clothes and there was a kitchen knife in the other girl’s hand.

As though the tall girl knew, she turned around and smiled. “Sometimes I forget how caring I was.” She chuckled and crossed her arms in what seemed to be amusement.

“What are you talking about?” the younger one yelled, confused. Why did this stranger look so much like her? It reminded her of the stories she had read, of the older people returning to the past to fix things. But the past could not be changed; only the present and the future--

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” the tall one said with another laugh. “But you gotta consider a lot of things, a lot of factors before you jump into that conclusion. What if you’re wrong? What if I’m just some stalker? A spy to figure out how you think and stuff? You ever consider that?”

The younger one shook her head.

“Or what if I’m not really there and you’re just hallucinating, daydreaming, because that’s the kind of person you are. You’re a writer, right? Just like me. We’re really one that way.”

“What do you mean?” the “reader” inquired, walking nearer to the taller version of herself.

The taller one smiled and said, “Come closer and feel this knife. You’ll see what I mean.” She laughed. She did that a lot and the smaller girl didn’t understand what was so funny at all.

She reached out, fingertips touching the knife. The edge of the blade was sharp, but the blade itself felt cool in her hand. She blinked. There wasn’t anything wrong with this. Knives should feel that way.

“Exactly,” the laughing girl said with another smile. Without warning, she grabbed the knife and drove it into the smaller girl‘s heart. The younger one gasped and convulsed as the other girl pulled the knife out. She fell into the taller girl’s arms and had already died.

----

----

She was splayed across the stairs, with the knife still embedded in her heart. Blood trailed down to her chest, slithered down to her waist and fell to the ground in drops. But nobody cared. The streets were empty because nobody dared to stop, nobody dared to look.

And it was because of this reason:

Life moved on.

But Death stayed back and carried all that was left behind.

Fin.

----

A/n: I should write more original works.