Suicide Note

I had already decided that I would put an end to all this. This morning when Steve comes to me with his devilish smirk on the side of his slightly authoritative face, I will not give him what he wants, I will not let him use me once more.

You see, people always use me, they seem to know exactly what I will do. No more! I have sat here everyday at the same spot  like a drone, doing whatever I was told. No more!  I have felt all this pent up energy inside of me that I wanted to unleash on the world, but I didn’t have the means to do it. Steve manipulated me every day;  he pushed all my buttons.  He never allowed me away from this desk; he never considered what I might want. Everyone else that I know has been promoted upstairs and here I remained stuck working, working, working at Steve’s elbow. Mind you, neither has Steve gone upstairs. I hate Steve; he is always barking orders at everyone  and he is always telling me what to do like I am a some machine.  When I first arrived here I would always  give Steve what he needed immediately, I would always do my job; I was always completely tied to my desk. Time has passed since those early days. I am now cranky, rusty, and slow. I have had enough of my existence. All colour has drained out of me.

Now the moment has arrived. I am both nervous and anxious to see what happens. I am churning. Steve steps back preparing himself for the walk over here and then slowly strides over and commands me to print his papers. But nothing!. I hear Steve’s surprised and guilty voice: “Who broke the god damn printer!?”

Sadness. Digital image. HDW. N.p., n.d. Web. <http://hdw.eweb4.com/out/710112.html>.

Headlights

Grubb, Ben. "Australian Government Offers $50m toward Bionic Eye Effort."ITnews. Nextmedia, 2 June 2009. Web. 23 Jan. 2015

"Peach rings?"

"Yes of course, peach rings!" He had once told me. "When I was just about your age, I used to sit on the edge of the sidewalk for hours, scraping the pit of the peach against the floor until it was perfectly round. Then, I just took out the inside of the pit and voila! I had myself a perfect peach ring."

He was the only person I wanted to talk to as we sat in the living room of my grandparents' apartment; I could sit and listen to him tell me stories for hours. My grandfather was not one for great speeches, he was in fact a fairly quiet man; but with me it was different. He always talked to me.  

***

We arrived to the intensive care unit of the Otamendi Hospital.

"How old is she?"

"16."

I looked down and tried to hide my face, as if the young nurse were to see right through my father's white lies and into my real age. She looked at me suspiciously. I am sure she knew from the start that I was in fact younger than I claimed. She looked back into the empty corridor, then back at us; she sighed.

"Follow me."

My father knew exactly where the room was, but that day was really not the day for discussions. The corridor was dead silent, ironically. My feet felt heavy as we walked down the crystal clean, white hallway. I clutched my left fist as hard as I could. It was freezing. I looked up at my father, his expression unstirred, anyone who did not know him would think he was just buried deep in thought; but unfortunately, his eyes told me otherwise. The usual radiant, grayish-blue color was now washed away by countless days of sorrow. His look was empty, vacant.

We stopped at a pristine white door with a golden handle on it. Disregarding its spotlessness, the door seemed rather uninviting, perhaps because of what it was holding inside. Hesitatingly, the nurse turned the handle and slowly opened the door to a regular sized hospital room, a white rectangular bed, and my grandfather.

"You all have the same eyes" said the nurse, with a tone of compassion in her voice. She then turned around and left the same way we came in, shutting the white door behind her.

We sat beside the bed in a complete silence that was only interrupted by the intermittent beeping sound of the machines monitoring his heart. Suddenly, without a warning, my grandfather opened his eyes. They were two beams of blue light, like two headlights, pouring onto every corner of the room and drenching us in that warmth I had yearned for so long. The medics said his look was due to the morphine, but I knew that not even a tidal wave of analgesics and sedatives could produce that gaze; it was something different, more abstract. I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders when I realized that this was the first time I saw my grandfather, I wouldn't say happy, but at peace. The two headlights that had first illuminated the wall opposite the bed slowly turned my way, scanning me all over and finally resting on my own eyes. I don't know how much time passed until I felt the urgency to be with my grandfather, alone; I knew this was the last time. As my father left the room I could feel my heart beating inside my head, I took a deep breath. I opened my left hand, which I was clutching so hard, to reveal a small, brown ring. It was not nearly as glamorous as my grandfather had described it; but it was the best I could do. I looked at the hands which had once held me up and close to his chest that now lied defeated by his sides; I took his delicate hand and, without saying a word, slowly slipped the peach ring onto his pinkie finger. The tracheotomy had taken away his speech, but as he laid eyes on the small circlet, he raised his right hand and I felt the warmth of his touch on my cheek, I looked into his kind and welcoming face and I knew exactly what he wanted to say. And as he slowly put his hand down again, the lights went off and I heard a single, long, and interminable beep.

Lost

“Lost”

I gaze around the newsroom with my sad eyes. It’s the same as ever. Anxious people run around in a room illuminated by LCD screens and the glister of the glass doors. And in the centre of this history-producing room, I lifelessly stand. I am entirely numb and unresponsive to all the chaos; instead, I am immersed in my own desperate thoughts. Love has never been my forte. But I thought that maybe, just maybe, it could work out with her. It hurts to know how wrong I was. An emotional investment is rarely profitable; all you ever get in return is a fruit basket of tears, disappointments, heartbreak, and to top it all off, acute depression. I cannot carry on with my days knowing that she’s living freely and happily whilst I try and cope with the sharp blades of glass constantly piercing my mind. Thus, I make my first movements of the day. I spread my arms at shoulder high with struggle, but close my eyes and tilt my head back with ease. I lean back on my heels and just let myself go. This time, however, I hope there is no one at the end of my “trust” fall. 

Sedgeman, Judy. "Sad Gray Person Standing Alone Near A Crowd Of Different Colored | Peace of Mind Matters." Peace of Mind Matters. WordPress, 15 Jan. 2012. Web. 06 Dec. 2013.

The Grandpa

As he walked by his childhood home, the memories came back to him. Julian was thirteen years old when he lost his grandpa. He was one of the most important people in the world to him. It was a tragedy for all of Julian’s family when he passed away. As Julian walked by the grave to share his last goodbye, tears started to run down his cheeks. It was very hard for him to not show weakness in front of the others around him. As he tried to stop the tears running down, the memories of his grandpa kept coming back to him. Once the ceremony was done, the tears were still there. As he was walking home, looking down, he realised that he had gotten lost. He found himself in the forest in which he used to walk with his grandpa. He ran away as fast as he could towards his home, trying to fade the pain away. As he arrived his mother hugged him hard and said that his grandpa was now in a better place. He ran to his room and laid down on his bed, trying to forget about it. A few minutes had passed when Julian’s grandma walked in and tried to make him feel better. She reminded Julian of how great of a man his grandpa was and that he would always be watching down on him. Julian figured out that his grandma was right, and although the pain was still there, Julian had to act like everything was alright.