I lay on my bed, listening to my parents fight

I lay on my bed, listening to my parents fight. Day after day it’s the same thing, my mom gets drunk and comes home and looks for a fight. Normally I was asleep by then and I wouldn’t hear anything, but tonight was different.

I got up from my bed and put on the pair of shoes I use when I sneak out. I quietly look into my photo album and rip out a picture. I look at my room, wondering if I would miss it. I probably would, my room was my sanctuary whenever something bad happened. I sighed and climbed out my window.

The night was warm with a little breeze; it was a fantastic night to go out on. A window was open and I could hear my parents still fighting. I turn on some Broken Social Scene, put the headphones in my ears and started walking to the park. I was all too aware of the metal object in my pocket gently hitting my leg whenever I took a step.

The song I was listening to reminded me of my dearly departed Alan. I missed him terribly and it was too much for me to take. He was the light to my dark and so much more. When he killed himself, he took a huge part of me with him. How I hated him for leaving me with such misery.

I turn up the music and let the sounds drown out my thoughts.

The orange streetlamps shone brightly, objects casting gloomy shadows against the buildings. At one o’clock in the morning in a small town like this, nobody dared to leave their safe homes.

I arrive at the park and sit on a bench. I turn off the music and brake the player. With trembling fingers, I grabbed the picture from my pocket. It was a picture of my boyfriend and I, covered in cake and kissing each other. Those were better times, times before my aunt killed herself, before my ‘uncle’ raped me because I looked too much like her, and even before my mom decided she liked whiskey. But I don’t have to deal with that, no, not anymore.

I put the picture in my bra, right next to my rapidly beating heart. I quickly write a note saying how much I love my dad and how I wish my mom would be found dead on the street with a vodka bottle in her hand. I sign the note and place it beside me. The gentle breeze cooled my hot skin. My shaky hand grabbed the gun from my pocket and slowly raised it to my temple. I took a deep breath. A single tear fell down my cheek and onto my shirt.

I pull the trigger and there ends my life.

Authors Note: I don’t normally write this kind of stuff, but a recent suicide caused me to write this. Please review and let me know what you think.