Sad Short Stories

8 (V)

I'm very ugly

So don't try to convince me that

I am a very beautiful person

Because at the end of the day

I hate myself in every single way

And I'm not going to lie to myself by saying

There is beauty within me that matters

So rest assured I will remind myself

That I am a worthless, terrible person

And nothing you can say will make me believe

I still deserve love

Because no matter what

I am not good enough to be loved

And I am in no position to believe that

Beauty does exist within me

Because whenever I look in the mirror

I always think

Am I as ugly as people think?

That is my poem, and basically my life.

Hi, I'm Max, also known as Ugly at my school. I'm very ugly, hideous most would say (Example: my parents), and I hate my life.

   Nobody likes me, including myself. I never understood the reason for living, breathing, talking, or hearing as a person like me. The one person that's saved my life from being taken is my friend Nathan.

   "No matter what you look like, just know that I'll always be here for you. No one should treat you the way they do, but they can't understand what it's like to struggle so much like us. They're just a bunch of losers that don't understand that not everyone looks like the fairytale prince or princess they expect us to look like. People are different, and different is good, it's good to be different, and normal is plain, and not near unique as different. You hear me, kid? Be happy that you're different. Life isn't a place filled with 'normal'. It's a place filled with differences.
  
   "When have you seen two buildings that are the same and look the same? When have you seen two snowflakes that look alike? Never. That's exactly what I'm trying to say. Be glad you're different."

   That was two years ago, before he died in his hospital bed while fighting leukemia.

   Tuesday October Second, 2018. I grabbed my phone. Nobody was home, this was a good time to not let anyone see my cry. I needed help. That's why I typed in the phone number.

   1-800-273-8255.

   "Hello. This is the suicide hotline. How may I help you today?"

   A tear trickled down my cheek. The person on the phone  was Nathan's older brother, the boy who told me the same thing Nathan did.

   "Jonathon, I don't wanna cry. I don't wanna cry anymore. I wanna feel alive."

   "M-Max? Is th—Is that you?" He sounded shocked. I wiped my eyes.

   "Yeah. I-It's me. I need help. I don't want to live anymore, but I don't wanna die." I sighed. "I mean, I do want to, but I don't have the guts to."

   "Good. At least I know you won't do it. Just, please. Listen to me. You matter to much to die."

   "No, I really don't." Just then, the front door opened. "No! No! Get away!"

   "Max? Max, what's going on? Answer me!" Jonathon gasped as he heard the gun shot.

Before you leave, please read the poem at the top again, but bottom side up.

   And, one more thing. You matter in this world. If you are having problems, call the hotline. Do it before it's too late.