Last Thoughts

This is a short story about a girl with a plan, a plan to die tonight. It is the girls last and final time to collect all the memories she can before they're all gone. It a story of her inner struggle between all the crap that has happened to her and the thoughts of leaving her loved ones behind.


2. Second Thoughts


When I get home no one is there, “thank god”, I think. I was starting to worry that my mom would be home for some reason and that would ruin my plan. I walk up to my room and place the contents of my back pack onto my bed, a few pencils and binders come pouring out and so does a small bottle. I pick up and bottle and think “this is it how it will end”, I open the bottle and pour and large amount of small pills in my hand. There is a sound from down stairs then my mom enters. I jump, throwing the pills into the air and then try to cover them by my comforter.

“Jenny, are you home?” my mom asks, then she makes her way into my bedroom. “What are you doing here?” her tone sounds worried. “I didn’t feel well so I came home early” I lie and my stomach twists. “Okay honey, I just came home because I left my wallet in the kitchen” she walks over to me and kisses my forehead “I hope you feel better” she smiles “and is pizza good for dinner tonight?” I say yes, even though I know I won’t be attending and then I whisper “I love you” and she says it back looking a little confused since I never say it any more. I hear the door close behind her and I fall onto my bed. I haven’t said I love you in five years; I stopped when my dad left.

My mom and I had just gotten home when we walk into find my dad siting on the stairs with suitcases beside him. My mom tells me to go to my room and I do but I listen intently by my door. What happened is my mom cheated on my dad a few months before, she felt very bad for what she did and regretted it so much but he couldn’t live with the thought of her being with anyone else anymore. I only ever talk my dad at Christmas when I get the annual phone call but, last year he forgot to call because it was too frantic with his new baby. He married a year after he left to an accountant from Quebec. He moved there to start “a new” as he called it. The last words my dad will ever hear me say was two months ago, when he called because he needed a password for their joint bank account, I answered the phone and yelled at him because he hadn’t tried to get a hold of me for the last five months. At the end of the conversation I spat out the words I hate you, as if they tasted sour on my lips and then I hung up. I wouldn’t of said that if I knew they would have been the last words but, oh well, if I called now he would know something is up. Now the only memories of my dad I will have to end my life is the one of him walking to his car with suitcase in hand and then driving away from me, forever. He will never know about my high school experience or my first boyfriend, but yet again I don’t think he cares.

I start to overheat I can feel my face turning red. I rip off my sweater and through tit onto my mattress I look down at the plethora of pills scattered all over. I can’t look at them anymore so I run into my bathroom and splash cold water all over my face. It’s refreshing and stops the sweat from beading down. When I look at the mirror I don’t meet my own reflection, I meet a pitiful girls whose makeup is smeared and hair is damp. I see someone weak, someone who reverted to cutting herself instead of talking to someone about her problems, someone who cry’s herself to sleep ever night and thought it would be easier buy a little bottle of pills from the school drug dealer to end her life then try to move forward. I hate her, but it’s too late to stop her. I can’t take it any longer I grab the mirror off its hooks that hold it to the wall and I throw it onto the ground. It smashes into thousands of pieces. Tears spout from my eyes. I crouch down and sit on my bathroom floor trying to avoid the glass, seven years bad luck people say about braking mirrors but I feel like my bad luck started many years ago so one mirror wasn’t going to do much. After a few minutes I get up and walk into my room, and pull out a notebook from my desk and I write. I write a note for my dad, my mom, Andrew and even Car. The notes explain home they were great contributions to the happy times I did have in the last two years, I write how I love my family and Andrew I also write to Car that the whole story of James and what he did to me. It try not to sound like I’m blaming anyone but it’s hard.

When I’m done I figure its time. I try to clean up as much of the mirror as I can and then apply new makeup because I do want to look pretty when they find me. I finish doing the best makeup job I can when my hands are shaking. I make my way to my bed and pool the pills into my hand I look at them. There nothing much just simple white pills with little writing on them but I can’t make it out because my eyes are getting wet again. As I am about to pop the pills in my mouth my cell phone rings. All I hear in the quite house is the sound of the song Barbie girl. I let out a small laugh and decide that it won’t hurt to answer it, it’s probably a telemarketer anyway they always call my cell trying to sell me a new furnace. The person on the other end was someone I wasn’t expecting, it was my brother.

I haven’t thought about him all day. He’s twenty-one and living in Toronto so I don’t see him very often except for on Thanksgiving. John is the genuine big brother type, the type of brother who said to call him whenever a guy breaks my heart so he can mess them up. Well, I never told him about James because he would have probably killed him.

“Hey lil’ sis, I know it’s been hard around the house lately. Dad told me you were tightly strung” he laughs.

“I’m not tightly strung, it’s just… he never calls”

“I know, he said he has been really busy”

“I guess not too busy to call you!” I scream at the phone, nearly hanging up on him.

“Why did you call” I say trying to change the subject as quick as possible,

“Well,” he pauses “I was wondering if over summer break you wanted to come hang at my place for a while. You know, to get out of the house.”

I love the idea, getting out of the house, hanging out with my brother. It sounds like I would have the time of my life. He has a girl friend named Amy who lives with him the last time I visited him we had an amazing time.  She took me to a club and bought me a drink. I would love to do that again but, I won’t be around in two months or at least I don’t think I will be.

“Maybe,” I say

“Okay, hon tell me when you know. Got to run, bye, bye.” The long beep of the disconnection pulls at my heart strings. That may have been the last time I will ever talk to him. My eyes begin to tear up. I don’t know if I can do this.

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