Wandering through her favorite small, cold classroom, she focused her eyes on her precious art, the ones she drew when she had nobody left. The paintings, she designed of whatever comes to her mind when she was in her dark, depressing place.
It is now January, rain pouring outside as she heard the drip drops of the splattering rain. She then settled into one of the cold, hard, metal desk lifting a black object from her grimy pocket to her shaking head.
Memories flashed through her dark mind. The bulling, the teasing, the judgment from kids and from her friends, they did her wrong. When she gets home from school, with expectation, her parents clashes, screeches, and throws what you could ever imagine at each other. Her brother constantly, day by day, shrieks and beats the poor, defenseless girl.
She holds the black object, the gun to her head, shaking as she pulls the gun even closer to her head. She inches her steadily finger towards the trigger which she is about to click. The rain is pouring harder. Her paintings silently gazing her as she twitches her finger towards the trigger. Ready, she was about to click it, tears in her eyes until she hears the door open forcefully. Silently, she curses and scolds to herself to have lock the door.
"Stop! What are you doing?! Put that down!" Her friend came for her, wet from the rain. He gawked at her with his wide, brown eyes. He stepped even closer but she gripped the gun even tighter.
"Do not do it, please. You have much more in life than you could possibly think. You have an education. You have a life. You have everything you could possibly want. You have me. You have me to get through this. I'll help you get through this." He pleaded her, so thoughtfully and determined to stop what she was going to do. He was about to confront her even more knowing he had no time left to stop her but instead he sighed in relief as she relaxed the hand she was clenching the gun in.
But she thought against it, tightens the grip and firmly replied, "Too late."
She clicked the trigger.
Now all that's left is the powerful sound of the deadly gun and the cries of the boy running to the phone calling 911.