FleshWound: Edited Version

She has a bullet in her pocket. She wants to use it but something holds her back. She buys the gun to satisfy or thirst for revenge but can't figure a way to pull the trigger. She is depressed and wantings nothing to do with her family. Her life is ruined now.

But life is something that comes and goes so what is one more life added to a statistic, one more .5 added to a statistic. Is that what we are considered a half of a percent. I realize that life isn't worth the pain and downfalls of growing up. They say things will get better but I realize that they haven't been getting any better. They've been getting worse. I curse the day I was born. I wish something would end it all for me. Perhaps a stray bullet or just something that accidently kills me. Yeah that's it, an accident.

But what's the point of it all. Living in hell and breathing it's fire just fuels your rage for everything. Come home from another bad day and you just want to die knowing tommorrow will be the same if not worse. There is no such thing as a good day. Playing with a gun I found as a kid, it seems to be my only friend left. I turned everybody away from me. I didn't mean to do it but I guess in my mind I wanted them to distance themselves from me so that my death wouldn't be so hard.

I can almost taste it. It's satisfying yet hard to figure out. How will I do it? Will I just shoot myself, hang myself, throw myself over a bridge or jump in front of a moving car? If another person is involved than how will they live their life. Would it drive them over the edge?

As I gradually look at the objects in front of me in the bathroom I start thinking back. Back to a life less fortunate. You never see things like that on TV. Days I wish I didn't have to come back home from school. Knowing that when I came home that the pain was taking a year off your life each day. Afraid of doing something wrong. Terrified of spilling the milk on the floor again. I was only six but I guess I deserved it. I shouldn't have been drinking the milk that day. It never happened again. They made sure it didn't by getting a hammer and hitting each finger then. I never touched it again. I couldn't hold it anymore. I couldn't feel my fingers for days. They took me to the doctor a couple of weeks later saying it was an accident. Accident? The word that is the easy way out.

As I grew up I just kept the pain inside and just let it build up to what I am now. Emotionally detached from everything I ever liked. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't dream of a better life because I never knew what one ever was. I've seen pictures but they are just actors hiding the true emotion of hate. I am hate. I am the wrong person to talk to. I am the person you see on TV that you feel sorry for. I am the person with the headphones wearing all black sitting in the corner standing still. I am the one you are glad you don't know so that when I die you don't have to care.

I'm back from my flashback. I pickup the half empty prescription pills I was taking for the past few years. I swallow them all but just gag on them and vomit the rest. Another unsucessful suicide attempt. "At first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again", is what they always say. As I pick up my next device for killing myself I see a faded picture of me and a girl located on top of the rusty medicine cabinet. I squint as if I'm trying to understand it. It's a happy memory I had. She was my first girlfriend. We were happy but our parents hated each other and definetly hated her. Her parents eventually moved away because of that and pretty much made me even more rotten inside. I never saw her again and I continued to hold my hatred inside.

But I must find her. Maybe we should be together and maybe that will help me. I can change. I willing to put a smile back on my face. I can be normal for everybody. I search for days and finally find out where they moved to. Her parents died in a car accident 2 months after they moved, which after finding that out I felt it was my fault. If we never met then her parents would still be alive. After they are killed, nobody in the family wants her so she is put up for adoption. She now lives miles away from me but I'm willing just to find out how she would react to me.

When I'm at her house a stranger to me opens the door. I ask if the girl lived here and she said that she ran off days ago and they haven't seen her nor care where she is. Lost again I feel like death again.

!!!!!!BANG!!!!!!

I fall to the ground. I look up briefly and its the girl I was looking for. Everything goes dim and I exhale my last breath with a smile. A note that I wrote glides off my cold dead fingers down the sidewalk. It glides towards her and she picks it up. She reads it:

You probably don't remember me but I remember you, now. After I had a life full of pain and thoughts about killing myself, I came across a picture of us together and happy and just that picture turned my life around. I was hoping to meet you today but since your're reading this note it must mean that I am gone. Hopefully this letter will bring us together but if not, I would just be happy again to see your face. I'll come back later to see if you got my note. Goodbye.

She looks at the gun and falls to the ground crying. She was saving that bullet in her pocket planning on killing herself. She hesitated for years but the person that she felt ruined her life was at her door and she felt that by killing me would ease the pain.

She never forgot me but her soul was consumed by her revenge to kill me. After she read the note she realized that it was too late to stop it. She ran to my lifeless body holding me crying and screaming. The one person that ruined her life could've been the person to also make her life happy again, and so did I. But it's too late now. Both lives will never be the same.

the end.