This article contains adult subjects, including drinking and suicide, as well as some mild language.
The Mirror has chosen to print this because its staff feels it is appropriate considering the rising numbers of teen depression and suicide. ­­­
The last name of the author of this essay will be withheld, also a decision of the Mirror, despite no request to do so from the author.
Venice High School Student
The door slammed shut.
He ran in tumbling over his own feet. He squinted. All he could see were the dark creases in each corner. And that window, oh that dark window. He wondered. He held his breath. All he could hear was the wind howling like a hungry beast. He tried to ignore it. His head was dizzy from the alcohol. His vision was blurry. Finally he saw the old brown drawer in the corner next to that dark window. He ran towards the drawer and paused.
For a moment he had forgotten what he was looking for. He looked to his left and there was that damn window again. He felt the glowing moon staring him down and the wind talking to him but couldn’t translate its language.
He opened the first drawer, empty. “Damn, where is it?” he thought. He felt the urge to get it. He needed it. He wanted it, now!
The man with the disturbing brown eyes worked his way down to the third drawer. He rushed to open it like a kid rushing through his presents on Christmas Day.
The drawer slid open smoothly. He dropped his hands and tumbled through the stack of papers. It was all useless, old receipts and school papers; he wondered why he had kept them.
His hands kept digging until they struck gold.
He took a grip on the handle.
He started to smile, then grinned. Oh how he loved this feeling. It was the feeling of death. And he could smell it near. He pulled it out of the drawer and there it was shining under the moonlight.
An all-chrome .357 magnum, sitting in his sweaty brown hands. He got his drunken body up and went to sit down in the corner right next to that damn window.
He sat with his knees drawn up to his chin. There was a ringing in his head and all he could think about was his mother. He was remembering how he felt alone at her side. Sort of like an abandoned child, but he didn’t care, he still loved her. But he wondered, why did she always pay less attention to him? Why every time the family went out to eat he stayed behind?
He could feel his head pulsing and sweat pouring onto the gun. He felt as if he had no meaning in this world. If his mother didn’t love him, then who could? “Why am I here?” he thought. He couldn’t find a reason for his presence on earth.
He wanted to pound his head through the window to command the wind to stop, but he knew it was useless. Everything was useless, even him. So why not help everyone out?
Screw it. He picked up the chrome revolver and raised it to his temple. His head pulsed stronger. His heart beat like a drum being played by a drummer on a mind-boggling high. His pores were fully open and sweat ran down his face.
He slipped his right index finger over the trigger and pulled the hammer ninety degrees back. “There’s no turning back now,” he thought.
He pushed the muzzle towards the pulsing vein in his temple. He could feel the heat rising. His mind was going crazy.
He stashed the gun back in the drawer and rushed toward the door to see who was knocking.
He slammed it open and saw an angel. One with beautiful green eyes and a smile that brought him back to life.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing, just looked for an old CD,” he said.
She shot him a weird look and he knew she was onto something.
“Why don’t we go back outside and have a drink or dance a little maybe?” said the brown-eyed man and gave her a smile.
“Sure, but are you okay? You don’t look so good,” she said.
“I’m doing fine, now that I’m with you,” he replied gently.
They locked eyes and shared a smile.
He felt saved by a guardian angel. He now had a meaning in this hell they called earth. He now felt somebody actually had an interest in him. Maybe somebody did love him, just maybe.
That was all he needed to continue life, to live another day.