"The Witnesses of Death"

Five more minutes and Science class would be over. We were almost all done with our homework, which we had time to work on after the lesson. I looked around the room; my teacher’s desk and the whiteboard were at the head of the room, and tables lined the walls. There was also a couple in the middle of the room. Instead of desks, we sat at these tables.

Out of boredom, I started to mess with my brown hair. A few people starting whispering to each other. Then, Mr. Bluett, our teacher, a tall, well-built man with a thin layer of black hair, walked over to a kid sitting alone at one of the center tables. His table partner was sick that day. I seemed to be the only one to notice Mr. Bluett talking to him. I sat on one of the outside tables and wasn’t too far from where they were.

“How’ve you been?” Mr. Bluett asked him quietly.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” was all the boy, Carter, said.

“Have you changed your mind?”

Carter shook his head. “No. I don’t want to live anymore. Not like this.”

Mr. Bluett looked him in the eye and whispered back, “I trust you’ll make the right decision. And if your decision is what you say it is, know we’ll all miss you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The boy I had known since Kindergarten was going to kill himself. His blonde hair and blue eyes were like any other; he had pale skin and freckles covering his face. His face was thin, and his jaw was defined. We may not have been close friends, but I knew him and valued him as a person. He brought joy wherever he went; I had never seen him unhappy. He had always been high-spirited. What would make him want to do this?

Without knowing what I was doing, I said, quiet enough to not draw attention, “Carter? Do you wanna talk?” A few seconds after I said that, his expression changed, and I could tell he knew I heard. He looked at Mr. Bluett, who nodded slightly. Then he went back to his desk, waited a few moments, and asked us casually if we would get some papers for him from the office.

Carter and I got up, and with shaky legs I walked towards the door. He waited for me before leaving. Once the door closed he asked, “What do you want to say?”

“How about we go to a practice room,” I suggested. The practice rooms were rooms that band or choir students used to rehearse. They were soundproof, and we would be left alone.

After he hesitated he agreed. We walked down the hall to the band room, and entered the practice room across from it. It was a small room with a piano against one of the grey walls, and it had an extra chair as well. Just as we got there, the bell rang. I assumed Mr. Bluett would email our teachers our excusal.

I took a seat on the piano bench as he chose to sit on a chair. I had no clue what to say. So I said the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

“Why do I want to?” Carter paused as he gathered his thoughts. “This world is too corrupt.”

“You’re allowing the bad things to be more powerful than the good,” I responded.

“It’s not like I can help it.”

“I understand that… I know what it’s like to want something to change but not be able to change it. Everyone does.” My voice cracked as I said ‘does,’ and I knew I didn’t have long before the tears came. I think he knew it, too. “I’ve seen death; I know suicide. Carter, surprisingly, I care about you. You’ve been my classmate for years. I’m not the only one, either. You have to know that.”

“It’s not a matter of people not caring about me. That’s not why.”

“Well doesn’t it make you second guess doing it?”

“I don’t want a guilt trip,” he snapped back.

“Then why?!” I cried. Instantly, I took a deep breath to control myself. “I don’t want to see you dead, Carter. Especially not by choice, and especially if I know I can do something about it. I know I can’t keep that razor from your wrists or that rope from your neck, but I can help. I only want to help…,” I faded off, knowing I couldn’t talk if I wanted to stay calm.

We sat for a few minutes in silence.

“A couple weeks ago,” Carter spoke up, “I started thinking about when Dillon died.” Dillon was a classmate who died when we were in fourth grade. Carter and him were close friends. “Then, I started to think about that everyone I know and love is going to die, too. I remembered what I went through when he, and when my great-grandpa, died. I remembered the pain it caused me. I never want to go through that again.”

“So you’re going to make everyone in this school and your family go through it.”

“I’ve already thought about that.”

“It’s harder to be the one left behind,” I interrupted.

He sighed, exasperated, and said, “I’ve made my decision.”

I spoke quietly, “Decisions can be unmade.”

“I suppose you want to do just that?”

“No. I can’t do that. I only want to tell you what I think you need to consider. Because a life taken from this world is hard enough, and to know it was willingly, chosen, is even worse.” There was another silence before I said. “You’re familiar with Moses, right?” I knew he was because we lived in a small town where almost everyone was Christian, and he went to the same church as me.

“Yeah?”

“Moses lived 120 years. There’s no chance he didn’t witness death. He lived through the death of Pharaoh, who he thought was his father, the man he grew up knowing as his brother, his real brother, Aaron, and his biological sister, Miriam. He also knew the deaths of the Egyptians when he sent the plagues. He lived through wars, and many people he knew died. Some Israelites he led died at the hands of God. He didn’t even know his own mother. Even so, he always saw God’s miracles much more prominently than the things that would cause grief. Moses trusted that God’s way was best, even if our human minds cannot comprehend why death could be good. We have to go on the little hope we’re given—the hope that there is a reason, that it will get better, and that this is the best way it could be. It is said there will be no other like Moses, which I agree with. He witnessed God, he spoke to God, and trusted all of God’s words and doings. He also talked to God, praying, sometimes, that he may be forgiving.”

I could see that this story got to Carter’s more than anything else would have. Still, he acted as if it didn’t. “What’s your point?” he questioned, with a little less edge in his voice.

I looked him in the eye, knowing he knew my point. “Carter, if this is one of the last conversations we’ll have, can I ask for two things?” I still had to work at holding back tears.

“What are they?”

“The first is to promise me that you’ll pray every night before you k-kill yourself,” I said, almost choking on the last two words. “The second is that you let me pray over you now.”

He looked back at me. After a second, he nodded. “I promise.”

“Do you know when you’re going to yet?”

His voice shrunk to almost a whisper. “I was planning on it either tonight or tomorrow night.” I had to clench my teeth once again to keep letting out a sob.

“Okay…,” I got on my knees and motioned for him to do the same. We faced each other, and he bowed his head and closed his eyes traditionally, whereas I only looked down. Every syllable was a struggle to get out. “Father, I pray for Carter. I pray that You grant him the wisdom to know what will help him cope with the pain that comes with life and death. Please help him to know and do only what is Your plan. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then this is how it needs to be. I understand that, and I pray that everyone else will, too.” I let out a shaky breath and allowed myself to tear up. I was talking to God, which is the one time I will not hide my emotions. “Lord, I pray that his passing is painless, and that You give him peace in his last hours. I ask that he can experience You more than ever before in the little bit of his life that is left. Help his family and peers to be strong in his absence, trusting you with all their strength, and not giving up on You or Your promises.” Now my words were becoming harder to understand as they were intertwined with my crying. “Don’t let this happen if it’s not supposed to be this way. Please. If there’s any way for You to change Your will, I pray with all my being that You do. Thank You, Father.” At this point I gave up on talking, knowing that my prayers would be heard even if silent. I closed my eyes and blocked out everything except my prayer. I focused on God and tried to control my sobs and take in His peace. After a couple minutes, I had mostly stopped crying, but my prayer didn’t feel complete. So I did what I have done so many times. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thine name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.” When I continued to the next line, I heard Carter join. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. Lead us not to temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever. Amen.”

I opened my eyes after a second, and Carter was starting to stand. I pulled my legs out from under me, and I sat with my legs crossed. I looked up at him and asked, chuckling, “Did you join out of habit or because you wanted to?”

“A little bit of both,” he grinned slightly.

I got up and stated, “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. I’ll miss everyone…”

“Just remember it’s never too late, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Then, because I couldn’t bear not to, I hugged him. As we stood there embracing one another, I had no want to cry. Once we let go, we both knew we had to go to class.

We left, and on the way to my locker I stopped in the bathroom to wash my face. With much struggle, I went through my day acting as though nothing were wrong. No one suspected anything, and I tried, perhaps too hard, to not let anything show.

For hours that night, I prayed. I prayed that Carter’s mind was changed, that he no longer wanted death. I cried, spoke vigorously, and sat in silence. I had to keep reminding myself I tried to help, and that God would take care of the rest. Eventually, though, I gave in to how tired I was and fell asleep.

The next day I didn’t see Carter. He wasn’t in class, and even though some of his friends were sure he was just sick, Mr. Bluett and I knew better. So when Science came and Mr. Bluett noticed Carter’s absence, we shared a pained look. Still, I clung onto the last strings of hope that maybe he really was just sick.

Again, that night, I prayed. I prayed that it wasn’t too late, and that Carter had chosen life. That second night was very much like the first.

I went to school, and had close to no hope that I would see him. I said very little before I arrived at school. I had no desire to talk, and rightfully so. But as I walked to the door of the school from my car, I noticed someone with blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I shrugged it off, thinking there was no way it was Carter. As the person came into my field of vision, though, it was the same face I had known for over ten years. The person I thought I would never again see was here. He looked as if nothing happened, and when we made eye contact, I could see that any thoughts of suicide were gone. Our paths met, and I asked him how he was.

“I couldn’t do it. I tried. The day we talked, I grabbed a knife, and thought about what I was doing… I couldn’t do it.” That was all he said, but it was enough. I wasn’t going to pry him for more information, and I figured that was all he wanted to give. Seeing him was all I needed.

I never went a day without thanking God for my life and the lives of the people around me after that.

A/N: I thought about making the ending so he ends up committing suicide. But that would be so cruel. But I think that it may also be a good ending. What do you think? Would it be better if Carter didn't live? I think it would be better for a short story.