I pull my tool of destruction from the drawer. I look at the blade glinting in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. Doubts flooded into my mind. Do I really want to do this? Would this really help?
My mind flashes back to last year. I remember feeling ecstatic about my new girlfriend, and all of my friends congratulating me. We were happy together. Then we went to that stupid party. I’m talking to one of my friends after a few cans of soda when I decide to go to the bathroom. And I saw them. Never before had I been that crushed. I remember running home and being in this same situation. The doubt won then.
My resolve strengthens. I walk over to the faucet and place my hand over the sink. I press the blade on my bare skin. Before I can follow through, more doubts run through my mind. What about those who care about me? Wouldn’t it hurt them if I followed through? I lift the blade just a bit.
Another memory comes to mind then. One of my mother and stepfather. My father had died years ago, a crushing moment for sure, but I pushed through. Not as fast as my mother had, though. She started dating again until she got married this past year. To the devil incarnate. The first few months, he was decent, but then he started getting angry and drunk a lot. He started beating my mother and me. I pleaded with her to call the police or leave him, even with the threats he issued, but it was like I wasn’t even there. My mother loves another man, one who mistreats her and her son, yet doesn’t even respond when her son needs to be cared for. I fell upon myself in grief and anger, putting myself in this very situation once again. The doubt won that time as well.
I grit my teeth and push the blade down on my skin once more. Blood trickles from the little cut I’ve given myself. I just need to push a little harder and…what am I doing? Am I really doing this? Fear and doubt flood into my mind once more. Isn’t there something to stay for? Anything?
A flashback to last week. After the incident at the party last year, people have been taking advantage of my sorrows. It grew to be worse and worse as the day passed. My stepfather would beat me at night, but those I’d once called friends took his role in the day. First at school, and then again at work. Just last week, the bullying reached its climax. I had a black eye from the night before and was still bruised from every beating in the past week. And they wanted to top all that. They pushed me out of the school, leading me to the dumpsters in the back. And one of them pulled a knife out. The same knife in my own hand. I had fought them off then, but their words still stuck in my head, haunting me everyday since.
“Why are you still here?”
My hand moves before the first tear can come down. The knife clatters into the sink, red staining its blade. I fall to the ground in shock. I did it. I actually did it.
Is this what you wanted, Sella?
My mother appears in the kitchen. When she sees me on the ground, she screams. Her husband follows right behind her. He yells and hits her before realizing why she screamed. His eyes widen in horror.
Is this what you wanted, Derrick?
The words file back in my head again. Why was I still here? Why hadn’t I done this sooner? My vision darkens at the edges, even as the lights come on and my mother’s desperate voice fills the air.
Is this what you wanted, Joe? Hal? Morris?
I pull in a shaky breath.
Goodbye, Derrick. Goodbye, mother.
Goodbye, Joe. Goodbye, Hal. Goodbye, Morris.
Goodbye, cruel world.