The wooden chair creaks as I step on to it, rope in hand. I begin to tie the rope to a support beam of my house. No longer will I take the abuse; no longer will I take the beatings, the name calling. I can hear the muffled voices of my parents screaming, even two stories up in the attic I can hear their screaming match. Newly formed tears begin falling like acid rain, staining the wooden floor below. I can't believe it has come to this. Even now as it is happening I can't believe it. When this started ten years ago, I never imagined it would lead to this.
There I was a young kid, just eleven years old, dark brown hair with blue eyes that could melt the soul, or so I was told. There I sat with my sister in my arms, her long blond hair hanging off my lap. Her lifeless blue eyes looking into mine, as her blood began soaking into my jeans. I shouted her name over and over again. Jessica! Jessica! My hoarse voice echoing throughout the empty house was the only response I got. My parents finally trusted me to baby sit my little sister, just three years younger than I, and this is what happens.
I was just watching TV my little sister recently ran upstairs to go fetch a toy, I remember her screaming and the thunderous thumps as she fell down the wooden stairs. I remember my eyes widening as my body jolted up on its own accord. The last thing I remember is calling 911 and waiting, her bloody head resting on my legs.
A loud crash from downstairs brings me back to the present. My father probably threw something again; he always does that when he gets angry. The worst part of this situation is they weren't always like this. There was a time when I didn't cry myself to sleep, when I didn't have to skip school because my father gave me a black eye, when my mother didn't look at me with her hatred but rather with love. A time when we were actually happy together.
The small trickle of tears suddenly become a waterfall as I think back to the days when Jessica was alive and mom and dad didn't hate me. When they didn't blame me for everything that when wrong, when they hugged me instead of beat me, when my name was Brad instead of bastard child. Why did she have to die? Why do my parents hate now? That is a foolish question they hate me because in their eyes I killed Jessica, and maybe they are right to think that.
With the rope secured, I begin on the noose. As long as I do this properly I will snap my neck and not have to hang there suffocating. Well, at least I'll be dead either way. When my parents find me dead will they be sad? I can see my parents walking in finding my body swing from side to side. Their lips curl into a smile for the first time, know their bastard son is dead. They will go out and party and suddenly become loving husband and wife again. Their life together will be better without me anyway.
The noose finished I slide it over my neck. My whole body begins to shake with fear, or maybe anticipation. Yeah, anticipation sounds more like it. I can't stop the images of me holding on to my neck as the last breath of life is forced from my body. Hopefully, it will just be a clean snap and were done. I move my feet so my toes are off the edge and one little movement forward will end it all.
I stand there for what seems like an eternity, listening to my ragged breathing as I try to take the final step. My heart pounding so hard it feels as it is going to burst out. The silence of the house tells me that my parents have screamed and drank until they passed out. Well at least I will die in silence. I take a few deep breathes, watching as the dust in the air swirls around with each exhale. In this calm state I realize I never bothered to write a note. Oh well, a tad too late now. I take the final step, eyes closed never to open again.
Before the question is asked I'm going to stop it now, no I am not suicidal nor depressed.