Suicide: Aftershock

"Why do you think about suicide?! It's wrong!!" I have heard from the one driving me to suicide, not knowing that it makes me feel worse.
I walk home after school and sit on my bed, thinking about everything that went wrong that day. I want to end this, I would think as I sat in bed, contemplating my next move. My mother was out shopping this day, picking up groceries for dinner. My dad was out today with some of his buddies, and my younger brother was at his friends place.
I stood up and walked to my dresser, grabbing the silver exacto blade I stole from my father's work space. My father didn't notice since I stole one of his replacements. I would always sterilize the blade in hydrogen peroxide before I slide the sharp silver across my arm. The new-found slit dripped a scarlet liquid, seeping all of my pain out, like morphine does for an injured patient.
I watched the scarlet slide around until it could go no more. This always seemed the way that I lived now, letting the scarlet liquid steal my feelings and run away with them. I have always longed for my childhood to sweep me up again, reversing the pain and allowing me to be happy and oblivious.
Today is the day, I reassured myself as I grabbed rope. I draped the one end on my coat rack then the other around my neck. Strengthening the strain on the rope, I pressed my neck against the rope tightly. I gagged as I choked, but reassured myself it was for the best.
"I'm home honey!!" My mother called as she walked through the threshold into the kitchen.
She unloaded her groceries on the table then went to watch TV. Next to enter the house was my father, who embraced my mother with a hug and a kiss. After the hug and kiss, my father went to drown himself in his studies to aspire in his workplace. My father was working on getting a promotion so that he can take us to fancier places.
My little brother came bursting through the doors, telling my mom about his day while my mother made dinner. He helped set the table as my mother handed him the objects and made dinner. My mother was making my favorite, meatloaf with scalloped potatoes and iced tea. Once dinner was finished, she told my little brother to sit at the table as she set the food down.
"Honey, it's t-" My mother froze as she entered the room, seeing me.
"...Sweetheart...?" She walked closer, holding a hand close to her heart, surely knowing it already.
She shook my shoulder, as if trying to wake me, then checked my pulse. A scream rang through the house, followed by wailing and crying. My father and little brother dashed upstairs, freezing in the doorway. My mother, hands clasped over her nose and mouth, cried.
My father tried to get my little brother to go to his room and succeeded after a few minutes. He then took me down and removed the noose, trying CPR in an attempt to save me. My mother watched for minutes, which turned to hours, then at six in the morning, my father gave up. He embraced my mother in a hug, silent tears rolling down his face. My mother broke down more, crying worse than before.
The next day a paramedic van was whisking me away, my family huddled together.
"Mommy...why is sissy being taken away?" He looked up at my mom, confused.
My mother, not knowing how to answer, just started crying again.
"Son, your big sister has...she...is dead.." My father choked on the words, near tears once again.
"Why is she dead daddy?" My brother looked at my father, confused and upset
"She...had depression..and we couldn't help her...." My father then broke down, hugging my mother and crying.
The neighborhood watched my family cry, some crying with them, some not. My brother was exempt from school for the whole month to mourn their loss.
My father shut himself in his studies, looking at the papers he still has to fill. He sits at the desk then lies his head down, thinking of how everything was on him. My mother went to my room then looked around, tears rolling down her face as she thought it was all her fault. My brother went to his room and wondered what was going on, and all the while, he also began to cry, realizing that I would never be seen again.
"I didn't want this to happen...I didn't want you to go out like that..." My mother muttered as she went through my clothes, holding alot of the clothing close.
"You should have grown up, and died long after us..." My father stared at the photograph of us at a picnic.
"Sissy will never be able to play with me again..." My brother cried, thinking about the last time we played together.
During the funeral, my mother and brother cried, holding each other while my father and his friends carry me in the coffin to my grave. My father didn't dare look at anyone else as he walked, placing my coffin where it would be needed. He took his seat by my mother, where he listened to my mother and brother cry, and he held it together.
After the funeral my father asked to leave his job for a while, so he could get his bearings straight. My mother resided in my room, looking over all the things that she wanted to blame herself for.
At school, my friends avoided sitting in their usual spots, avoided reading what I loved to read, and they avoided their original lunch spot. Instead, they blamed themselves for my death.
The bullies themselves, despite thinking I was overreacting, they realized the pain they caused others, and tried their best to avoid being blamed, when it caused them more trouble to avoid it.
Months passed, and my mother hasn't made a single meal I have loved, just to avoid thinking of me. My brother doesn't eat as much because he feels lonely at home without me. My father has returned to work, but wasn't working as hard anymore.
My friends at school still avoid their spots with me, the things they do with me, and their lunch spots with me. The bullies have moved onto another target, just to project their pain onto someone else.

 

thanks for actually reading my masterpiece Anna, I appreciate people who enjoy such works

 

if you cannot read it in plain text I fear for your future.

 

anyways so, just saying this one cannot be further edited

 

looks like something that a hater would write -_- I honestly wanted to write something for fun, not write something for attention like you.

 

Thanks!

 

This story is finished, but I will be working on my other works in progress, of course expect some time for me to plan stuff and write it down.

 

You are welcome Ulquiorra, I was happy to write something great

 

Sorry Wolf, but I don't to create the sense of a paragraph, because I enjoy the idea of looking at a story and seeing it like a story, not a children's book. And it is basically the same reason for why I don't use bb codes

 

Thanks, I might take that into consideration. Mr. Critic.