Don't Forget Me

Don’t Forget Me

Please, just go away.

He stared at the broken stranger, their hollow eyes meeting each other for the briefest moment of time. The person he stared at, they had nothing in common, yet face to face they resembled one another. Their skin the same tone, they both had the same scars in the exact same places. Their tears ran down their cheeks at the same speed, their eyes both the same shades of red. Both figures even held the same razor.

What’s the difference?

The difference between the two was that one was real, while the other was just a reflection. The second figure, he didn’t have thoughts. He didn’t feel the pain that the first spent hours trying to cut out with the blade.

This is why he hated his reflection. He didn’t like the person that stared back at him. He hated him with all his heart, meaning he would do anything humanly possible to make him go away. He would try anything, even if it meant making himself go away.

Can’t you hear me?! Go away!

The boy brought his fist down against the surface of the mirror, sending a splitting crack right through the stranger. The shards of broken glass cut apart his skin, sending blood dripping all over the counter top. Tears streamed down the boy’s face, not because of the stinging pain but because of his failed attempt to kill his reflection. No matter how hard he tried, the boy in the mirror would never change. Deep down, he knew that it wasn’t his reflection he was trying to kill. It was himself.

The crack in his reflection mimicked him. It had the privilege to feel nothing, because it was nothing. It didn’t have the scars that the boy did. It didn’t cry itself to sleep like he did. It didn’t beg to be noticed like he did.

Sobbing even harder, the boy dropped the razor as he brought his hands to the sides of his face. He wiped away the salty tears, but they constantly flowed down his cheeks.

Stop crying!

Balling his hand into a fist, he slammed it against his temple. A jolt of pain shot through his skull, but this didn’t knock away the tears. In another attempt, he hit himself again. A thin stream of blood dripped from his right nostril as his fist slammed against his nose.

I’m useless. Why can’t I just go away?

The boy collapsed against the bathroom wall behind him and stared at the mess he created. Drops of blood decorated the counter, the mirror was cracked, but he knew it wasn’t over yet. He still had much to do before his time was up. He wasn’t ready to move on, at least not yet.

Wiping away the blood with the back of his hand, he then reached into his pocket. The smooth edge of the rectangle brushed his swollen fingers, and he pulled out the small phone.

No use in writing a note.

The boy turned on his phone and scrolled to his contact list. He already made a plan, so there was no hesitation in his actions. Every day at school in study hall, he didn’t pull out worksheets for his class. All he did was think for that entire period. Now, with the timing just right, he knew what he had to do.

He scrolled through his contact list, counting up the people that stood some chance of missing him if he went through with his plan. As the minutes dragged on, he counted up about ten kids he would forward the message to.

To contacts: I’m sorry this had to happen. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You were there during the times I needed you, and I’m thankful for that. It’s just that right now, at this very moment, I have no clue where you guys are. Right now I need you the most, but I know that you are probably busy with your lives. Once you receive this message, it will already be too late. I’ve made my decision, and I’m sorry for that. I truly am. I’m sorry I’m including you in this, but it’s just the way it has to be. I know that there is another world out there somewhere. There has to be. Maybe one day you guys will join me. Please, I beg you, don’t forget me.

His finger hovered over the button, and he knew that once he pressed “send”, then there would be no turning back. As the clock ran backwards and time slowly unwound, he found the courage to press that button, and with that single action there was no regret.

The green bar loaded as the message sent to the people he knew that would care. In his mind, his action wasn’t selfish. Really and truly, he didn’t even know if what he was doing was for himself.

Am I really doing this for me, or is it just for them? Would they cry? Would they come to my funeral? I’m sure they would, but right now, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t here with me, no matter how bad I need them.

Slowly, the boy leaned forward as he struggled to reach the blade he had dropped. He remembered he spent a long time trying to take out the screws from his pencil sharpener. Somehow, he managed to free the small blade.

His fingers fumbled with the cold metal as he reached the blade, and he brought it down upon his skin as he made the first cut. The blood bubbled up out of the wound and ran down his skin as he slid the blade across his wrist. Tears streamed down his face as he slit his skin, the pain and sorrow slowly escaping him.

Right then, he felt his phone vibrate in his lap. He didn’t bother picking it up, because he knew that it would make him stop. Before he went through with any of this, he promised himself that he would not read their messages. Their words, they meant nothing at the moment. The phone vibrated a second time, and then it went wild. The vibrations never seemed to end as the noise rang throughout the small bathroom.

“Shut up!” he sobbed. Angrily, he gripped his phone and hurled it at the mirror. It shattered into a thousand broken pieces as it rained down onto the floor. The shards, they surrounded him, all of them mocking him. All of the strangers, they stared back at him. No matter what the boy did, he could never escape them.

With a quick slash, he slit his arms left and right, the blood flowing from his skin. Everything turned red as his sorrow slowly ate up the world around him. The floor turned bright as his blood dripped down onto the white tiles. They were no longer clean and polished as the blood flowed like wretched rivers.

Soon, he would be able to escape this misfortunate world of his. His friends, family, teachers, and everyone he ever knew would never see him again. This made him slice his skin even harder as he dug the blade into the layers of flesh and muscle, the blood spouting like a running sink.

His vision was slowly turning dark, the world around him spinning. In a few minutes, he would be free from this place. He would be able to say goodbye to all this pain and suffering.

The image of his little brother formed in his eyes, and this made him sob even harder. His brother would never have anyone to look after him. He wouldn’t have a role model to look up to. He would be just as alone as he was when he grew up.

His family, he could only picture what they would do when they found him lying dead in the bathroom. They weren’t here though. They had left him to go shopping with his little brother. This created the perfect moment, the time he would take his life.

He even saw his friends, their faces slowly passing by like floating clouds. They said they would be there for him, no matter what happened.

Where are you now?

Down stairs, he heard an engine rumble. A car door opened and slammed shut, and shouting followed behind.

I’m running out of time! My parents, they’ll be here any minute!

Outside on the front steps, he heard a heavy pounding on the front door. A familiar voice called out his name, but he didn’t bother getting up. Instead, he ran the blade vertically down his arm, digging it into his veins as more blood spewed from the wound. The sounds from outside, they muffled as a faint ringing filled his ears. It sounded as if someone had stuffed wads of cotton into both of his ears.

Is this what it’s like? Is this really what it feels like to die?

The front door burst open down below, and rushed footsteps came from the hardwood floors. The boy barely had enough strength to keep his eyes open. He was slowly slipping away from this cruel world. He knew that it wasn’t over yet.

That’s not my family down there. It’s him . . .

If that person found him, they would drive him right up to the hospital and his plan would fail. He knew that if he were to be saved and he went back to school, he would be known as the boy who tried to kill himself, and he didn’t want that to happen. He didn’t want to be saved.

Please, just go away. Just let me die.

His grip on the razor loosened, and he dropped the blade. It clattered on the tile floor as he let it go. He wouldn’t need it anymore, because he knew his wounds were deep enough. He would bleed out soon enough.

The pain shot up his arms and he crawled to the door, the darkness slowly devouring him. He couldn’t let go just yet. He had to hold on for another minute. The task wasn’t complete.

As he scooted closer to the door, he reached for up for the knob. The lock was only an inch away from his outstretched fingers. The blood dripped down his arms in thick streams, and as he reached for the knob his wounds stretched, too.

So close. You’re so close to finishing this.

The doorknob came to him, but it wasn’t because of him pleas that it moved. Someone on the other side of the door had opened it.

It was him, the face he had pictured when he slit his wrists. He was one of the contacts in the list that he had messaged. His friend’s eyes widened as he stared down at the boy, his jaw slowly dropping. A single tear slid down his friend’s cheek and he collapsed to his knees, right in the doorway.

“Why?” His friend’s voice quivered. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered. “Nothing you could do to stop it . . . not your fault.”

His friend shook his head and reached in his pocket for his cell phone, his fingers ready to dial those three numbers.

“No, please!” The boy choked out. He reached up for his friend’s phone, but he was too far away to get a good grip.

“I’m not letting you die!” his friend sobbed. He dialed those simple numbers and held the phone to his hear, waiting for another voice at the end of the line. When someone on the other end picked up, he quickly spilled out all the details. Giving them the current address and the information they needed, he hung up the phone.

Tears streamed down his friend’s face, but the boy turned away from him. He had to finish the job. He had to escape this mess he created. Reaching for the blade, he brought it up to his wrist for a final try, but another hand gripped his.

“Please, just stop it!” His friend ordered. “I’m not going to let you kill yourself!”

“It’s too late,” the boy whispered.

“Why?! Why didn’t you come to me?! I told you I would always be here for you! I told you that you could talk to me any time you needed me! I was always here for you! Why didn’t you talk to me?!”

“I did,” he said. His lungs were slowly getting weaker, making it even harder to speak. “You did everything to try to help me. You couldn’t have done any more than you did.”

“Why did you do it then?” His friend pulled the blade away from him as he tossed it across the room. Reaching for his jacket, he pulled it off of him and wrapped it around the boy’s wounded wrist, trying his best to keep pressure on it.

“Tired . . .”

“Of what?” he asked. He pulled the boy to his side and wrapped his arm around his neck, their backs against the bathroom wall. His hands held the jacket in place as he waited for help to come.

“Everything . . .”

“You still could have talked to me,” he said. “I told you I am always here for you, bud. You didn’t have to do this. I could have done something to help you.”

The sight of the boy drew tears from his friend’s eyes. He couldn’t believe it. Minutes ago he had been heading to the store to pick up some lunch to bring back home. He remembered his phone had vibrated, and as he read the text he realized that the boy’s house was less than a mile away. Even if it meant breaking the law, he sped up the car to get there in time. He had been to the boy’s house only once, but that one time was all it took for him to know that the key to the front door was located under the welcome mat out front.

“You did help me. You were one of the few people who did.” The boy struggled to suck in enough air, since he knew that he didn’t have much time left. This was it. Everything he knew from this world, he would never see it again. He had to make his last words count. “Thank you.”

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take over him. He had gotten what he wanted. The one thing that made him consider turning back was the thought of dying alone. Now, he didn’t have to. His friend was always there for him, and he was here now.

Goodbye.

“Wake up!” His friend shouted. He shook the boy, trying to wake him up. As he shouted his name and shook him back and forth, the boy’s eyes never opened. He was gone. “Wake up, man! You can’t go! Wake up, bud! You have to wake up!”

His friend sobbed as he called out his name, but nothing he did could bring the boy back to life. If only he were there sooner, then maybe the boy wouldn’t be dead. Maybe, just maybe if he had said something sooner, then his friend would still be alive.

“Please, just wake up. You’re one of my best friends. You can’t go. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I should have been there more. I should have talked to you more than I did. I’m so sorry. Please, come back.”

No matter how hard he begged, the boy’s eyes didn’t open. He was gone. His task was complete. Only now, he created something. His death, it would cause a ripple through the lives he touched. His friends, family, and everyone he ever knew, they would all change because of him.

“I’m so sorry . . .”

Don’t Leave Me

A week had passed since the time of the boy’s death. The time it had happened, he thought that it would not change anything, but it did. It changed a lot more than he could have ever imagined.

His friend that had showed up, that event had damaged him. Now, he’s currently as bad off as the boy. Every night he wakes up screaming, since every night he dreams of the boy dying in his arms.

He doesn’t talk in school anymore, with the thought that the other kids will question him about the event. The guilt slowly eats away at him day by day.

I could have saved him. He could still be alive if I were there sooner.

The boy’s brother has no idea that he killed himself, with the constant lie that he went on a field trip and will be coming back soon. His little brother sits on his bed in his room, staring out the window as he waits to see him come walking up the driveway. He sits this way for hours on end, except his brother never comes walking up the driveway. Four years from now, his parents will tell him the lie that his brother moved away and went to college. Deep down he knows that this is a lie because of the tears that well up in their eyes. Eventually, he will learn the truth, but until then he waits for a family member that will never come back.

He will be coming back soon. I know he will.

The parents of the boy cry themselves to sleep every night. Their marriage was only held together by their children, and when their only child grows old enough to move out of the house, they part ways as they fill out the divorce papers.

His father falls into a state of depression with the constant reminder that he could have done something to save his son. He starts to lose interest in his job and is later fired from work. As for the boy’s mother, she cries herself to sleep every night. She never remarried, because she knew she would never be able to have another relationship as strong as her first.

When the entire school found out about the event, the bullies that made fun of the boy in the hall ways felt terrible. They regretted every hateful word and laugh they hurled at him, and they now feel as if it’s their fault.

His empty desk in class serves as a reminder of a soul that could have been saved, and every now and then, a student will find themselves staring right at his desk, wondering why they never did anything to help.

Even the boy’s teachers find themselves close to tears as they pass out the tests, skipping over his as they move onto the next student.

Why didn’t I bump up his average? I knew that it was an option, but I chose not to because I felt he needed to apply himself more. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him.

As for the ten people he sent the message to, it’s still on their phone. They read it every night before bed, thinking they should have helped him. They even posted on his social networking accounts, saying how much a good friend he was. Every now and then they check that status, hoping for his reply.

Most of all, no one ever forgot him, just like he asked. All of these lives that he touched, they came tumbling down when he left.

The only thing that’s sadder than the boy’s death is the fact that people started to appreciate his presence only when he left. They never felt that way when he was there, so why are they just now starting to feel it?

Why didn’t they notice the signs? Why didn’t they say something to help him?

Why did he leave us?