_*Trigger warning guys… Just be cautious about reading…*_
I’m standing in my bathroom, my reflection stares back at me from within. I shiver. The tile is like ice underneath my bare feet although it’s July.
I hold in one hand my destiny and in the other I hold the answers to all of their questions. I don’t worry about anything. My mind is crystal clear for the first time in weeks.
I’ve done my fair share of thinking lately. Planning, debating, thinking, thinking some more, and re-planning. It’s been harder than I thought. I guess I thought that knowing my fate would make everything easier. But it hasn’t. I see all of the people around me doing their own thing and wondering if this will this even affect them for the slightest second. I see my smiling mother holding a tray of fresh strawberries walking into my bathroom and collapsing under the weight of seeing what her youngest daughter has done. I see my beautiful big sister crumbling into our dad’s arms and screaming about how he’s wrong. It didn’t happen.
These thoughts almost make me change my mind, but then I think of myself. I see a small, faded girl sitting alone at a table hiding her sunken green eyes under her thick brown bangs. I see a wilted flower, still alive but barely hanging on. When I see these things, as horrible as they are, I know what I have chosen to do is the right thing. It is the only thing that will help me.
I slowly raise my right hand and force the barrel to my throbbing temple. I hesitate, thinking maybe this won’t solve any of my problems. Maybe it won’t make me better. But then the images of myself rush back into my head and I feel the stress of everything I have ever done wrong. I feel the ache of my heart being shattered into millions of pieces every day by people I thought I loved. And I know it’s the right thing to do.
I’m home alone. I don’t want them to find me when it happens. I don’t want them to rush towards that awful bang and see me lying there. I don’t want them to have hope that they can save me.
My hand shakes, but I force it to do what I need it to. My body slams to the hard floor that my feet had been firmly placed on only minutes ago. Everything goes black and I feel myself floating. It’s done.
I hear my phone that I held a million times ring. A text message from an unknown number flashes across the screen, “You now have the chance to go back in time and change one memory. You have five minutes to decide.”
I wish it was possible. I wish I could go back in time and drag my feet across the tile onto the carpet, and from the carpet to the concrete. Someone outside would surely see me and know something was wrong. They could help me. I could get better. My life could take this amazing turn and I would feel good for one of the first times in my life.
But, alas, nothing will ever change this memory I have. Not a wish, not a miracle, and especially not a text from an unknown number. I am gone, and I will be forever.
