”Today is just another day”, I keep telling myself. “It’s going to be okay”, I say, but I can hear the panic in my voice. I stop and look at you. You send me a comforting smile like you always do, and I try to smile back, but I can’t. I look down at the ground and continue walking.
I wait outside the school and walk in, just as class has started. The teacher glances at me quickly, but then continues to look at the board. I walk to my seat, but falls on the way. I look back to see the others laugh and the evil smile of the person who tripped me. I look at the teacher, but she is ignoring me. Just as usual. I walk to my seat and sit down beside you. I fight the tears, but it is a lost battle. Then I feel you hand on my shoulder and see a piece of paper slipping onto my side of the table. “Never give in”, it says. “Remember what I always tell you. ‘When your life feels lost, fight against all odds’”. I look up and see right into your blue eyes. You smile at me. I laugh nervously, put my hand on yours and whisper: “My prophet”.
Your hand in mine is what gets my through the rest of the day. Every time the others laugh and call me “emo”, “freak” or “retard”, you smile and squeeze my hand. I smile back every time, but in my mind, I have reached a decision. I’m going to do it. I know you are not going to like it, but I can’t continue just for you.
When I get home, I go straight to my room. I throw myself on my bed and let the pain tear me apart, but after a while I stop. I get up, feeling nothing, walk over to my closet and start searching. I find what I’m looking for and walk over to my bed. I put on my headphones, press play and soon I can hear your beautiful voice in my head. I look down at the jar of sleeping pill I’m holding. Finally I’m doing it. Before I can think twice I open the jar and shallow a handful of the pills. I smile and lay down on my bed. I close my eyes, but suddenly I can feel you presence. I open my eyes and see you standing over me. You look disappointed. I smile at you and you stare back at me, furious.
I know you are mad at me, but in the end, you are just my imagination. The real you are sitting in California, writing beautiful song that I will never get to hear. I can feel the pills kicking in and I know I have to say something before it is too late.
“I love you,” I whisper, “but I can’t continue because of you. You have really helped me, but you are not real. I will miss you, but I can’t keep doing this….”
My words trail of and I smile. “This is it”, I think, “This is the end”. I feel weightless. I am not afraid anymore. Heaven’s calling.