Author: MusicLover87 PM
A short story I wrote for fun. It's not a fun story, but it was fun to write. please review!Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Hurt/Comfort - Words: 1,224 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 08-24-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3053091
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It's a rather windy day. Winter, cold, icy, slippery. I could slip on this ice no problem, nobody would suspect a thing. Personally, I don't want people to know I committed suicide. I just want to be gone. Suicide just sounds much worse than slipping off of an apartment building. So much drama that goes along with it. I don't want this to be a dramatic death, I just want to die. So I've decided. I'll slip off of the roof. But why am I on the roof? Damn, I didn't think about that. I'm looking for someone, yeah that's it, I'm looking for someone. But, if I'm dead how will I tell them I'm looking for someone? If I can't tell them, then it will definitely look like suicide. I know! I'll call Denise and ask her if she's seen Wendy.
"Hello?" answers Denise.
"Hey Denise, it's Veronica. Have you seen Wendy?" I ask.
"No I haven't actually, I've called her three times and she hasn't answered."
"Weird. I talked to her a little bit ago and she told me she was going to go have a smoke on the roof. I'll go check for her up there."
"Ok, let me know if you get a hold of her."
"Will do." I reply as I hang up the phone.
Genius. I am a genius. How do I come up with these things? Now everything is in order and I can just slip off of the roof. Crap, what if the police ask Wendy and Denise about it? Denise will tell them about our conversation. And Wendy will tell them she didn't come to the roof for a smoke. They'd figure out I was lying. Lying to cover up a suicide. Great. I'm back to the beginning. What do I do now? I know! I'll make it look like I was the one having a smoke. Just one problem. I don't smoke, so I don't have any cigarettes with me. I'll just have to go to the gas station and get some.
I'm walking down the street to the gas station. Ewe, that old man is digging through the dumpster outside that sketchy Greek restaurant. I wouldn't eat that food if it came from the kitchen, and he's eating it out of a dumpster. Finally here. The bell on the door dings as I enter the gas station. I'm walking to the counter to buy a pack.
"Veronica! Any luck?" I hear behind me in an annoyingly high pitched voice.
Shit. It's freaking Denise. "Nope, I checked up on the roof and she wasn't there. Come to think of it, maybe she didn't tell me she was going up there to have a smoke. I could have been imagining that." I reply trying to cover up the previous lie.
"Well that's just so peculiar. She always answers her phone and I've called at least a dozen times now."
"Yeah that doesn't sound much like Wendy. Well I'm going to go back up to the roof, because now I need a smoke."
"Wendy is missing and all you can think about is smoking? And since when do you smoke anyways?" she interrogates.
"It's a new habit."
"Well I don't care. We have to go looking for her."
"I'm sure she's fine. Her phone is probably just dead, or maybe she's driving. You know she's extra careful and doesn't like to have her phone by her when she's driving."
"Yeah, but I've been calling for hours and she would never drive that far without telling us. And I know it's not dead because it doesn't go right to voicemail."
"Well I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. We'll just have to wait."
"Wait? Are you kidding me? Is that all her friendship is to you? For all we know she could have been in an accident or she could be taken hostage by the mafia right now and we wouldn't know it!" she manages to get out all flustered.
"Denise. Take a breath." I say attempting to calm her.
"I'm sorry. I'm just really nervous. We had plans tonight and she's late, and she's not answering her phone, and this is not like her."
"Ok. Well let's try to calmly think about this. Could she be working late?"
"No, I called her work and she got off at her normal time."
"Ok, could she have fallen asleep by accident in her apartment?"
"No, I went there and knocked on the door and yelled for like ten minutes."
"Well we both know she's a very heavy sleeper. So let's go check there again. The manager knows us and he'll let us in."
"Ok, let's go."
All of this drama with Wendy and Denise is distracting me from my main objective of the day. This all needs to end so I can go slip off of the roof. Why did I even listen to Denise? If I'm going to die soon why would I care if I offended her by saying I didn't want to help her look for Wendy? Oh well, We're here, we talked to the manager and we are just about to go into her apartment. If she's in there I'm good to go, and if she's not, I'll just tell Denise she's on her own. The manager let us in and stood by the door waiting. I suppose for legal reasons he has to stay with us.
"Wendy?" yells Denise. "Are you here?"
"I'll check her room, you check the bathroom." I tell her.
I walk into her bedroom. There she is, hanging in her closet. I scream for help as I pull her down. Her skin is cold, not breathing, no pulse, dead. Denise and the manager run in. He stops dead in his tracks, frozen. She falls to ground, screaming, convulsing, look of total terror and total hurt. I lay here, crying, speechless, tears falling from my very much alive eyes, onto her very dead face. The manager is able to pull himself together and call 911. Denise still on the ground screaming, begging for it not to be real. Me, sitting here thinking about how I too almost did this. I too almost committed suicide. I look over to Denise and see her pain and I'm disgusted with myself. I see how much death hurts other people. I see how ending my hurt would cause hurt for many others. I think of how I feel, seeing my best friend dead. How I wouldn't wish this pain on anyone else, and yet, I almost caused this pain for others. I think of how if I wouldn't have run into Denise at the gas station, I would have gone through with it. I would have accidently slipped off the roof and fallen to my death. Leaving Denise with her two best friends dead in one day. Any thought of suicide in my brain has vanished. All I can do now is crawl over to Denise and hug her, go through this loss with her, be there for her and she'd be there for me. The two of us lying there crying, shaking, listening to the sound of the ambulance pulling into the apartment parking lot. Her thinking that this day couldn't get any worse. Me thinking of how I almost did make it worse.