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This is something random that me and my friend are making after drinking too many energy drinks. Yes, it's pretty bad. Oh well.

D.W. Arsement and Zachariah Tate

About three weeks ago I decided that this was the day that was going to be my last.
I went downstairs and opened the door to my garage. Inside it was dusty and grey and smelled like cockroaches and mothballs, that sort of rubber metallic smell. I walked around my father's boat, a giant 30,000 dollar pontoon boat. The boat that he loves more than me.
I crawled around it and found the old boxes that we still haven't opened since we moved. It's funny how that happens, isn't it? How you pack up boxes when you move, and you really never end up opening them anyways.
I found the one that said, in large, permanent marker, 'Boat Supplies', and brought it down. Inside it were many things, but the thing I needed the most was a rope.
The rope was blue and made out of nylon, and that was good, because it had to be strong enough to support my own weight. It was beautiful. It was intricately carven, it was fantastic, I picked it up and touched it with my soft hands, and I trembled, finally, here was the key to my freedom, finally, the key to the door out of the dark room that plagued my soul like a dark fog, like a black hole.

I took it to school, surprisingly. I already had it all planned out. There was no real reason to do it at home. I had already planned that out, and how boring would that be? My mother and father would not have cared, I could already see them walking into the closet and sighing, smoking their cigarettes and saying to each other, "Well, she finally did it, we knew this was coming, didn't we, honey?" And then my mom would smile and reach out and close my lifeless eyes and probably even fucking burn her cigarette on my dead body, and reply "Yes, thank God. Now we can use her room for the new baby."
No. That would be pointless, and that would give them satisfaction.
Instead I would do it at school. Kids would find me and shout and cry and be scarred for life. Teachers would too. The principal will call my parents and they would be sent to jail or at least tried for child negligence. I don't know. I don't care, but that would be more likely.

No. I would do it right during lunch. After English class is my lunch, and after that there are about six million kids that stop by the bathrooms. That would be perfect.

I brought the rope to school in the bottom of my very large purse, and waited throughout the day. And, a strange thing happened--life suddenly became very interesting.
It's interesting, life is, anyways, when you know your going to die. You see people in a different way. You make sure you tell them you love them. I told Charles, my ex boyfriend that.
I saw him during second period, the asshole, and I walked straight up to him and he looked at me kind of funny. He was holding hands with his slutty girlfriend who probably deep throats him every fucking night, and I hugged him and smiled and whispered in his ear "I forgive you for everything." And then I walked away. He looked confused. But I'm sure he'll understand.
I waited and waited and when I entered fourth period, English, right before lunch, was when I realized the implications of what I was going to do. Of course, I had every right to do this, but, well, I don't know. It was different. I suddenly did not care for revenge on anyone, but at the same time I felt so entirely alone. I wanted to tell everyone, but I couldn't, but I wanted people to know--if just to see if they would try to stop me. Who, would try to stop me.

That was the slowest hour of my life, right there. I was sitting in the back row and Mr. Stanton was talking on and on and on and on and on and on, about Hamlet. Hamlet supposedly was some guy that basically gets screwed over by everyone he loves, and he dies in the end. I thought it was the saddest and dumbest story I ever heard. There's a part in the story where Hamlet has the chance to kill his enemy, but he doesn't because he is praying, and he doesn't want his enemy to go to heaven, he specifically waits so that he can make sure he goes to Hell. I think this makes Hamlet more evil than the King.

Before I knew it the clock was ringing and my heart suddenly started beating and I felt this presence inside of me, and it was there, this feeling that something wanted to make sure I was going to go through with this. And I felt two ways about this presence.
1, is that I wanted to reject it. I wanted to shout at it that it was wrong and that I would not be a chicken if I didn't go through with it. I didn't know if I preferred this or not, and
2, is that I wanted to listen to it. Somehow, I knew that if I listened to this presence, it would benefit me, and I would be surrendering to my own... my own... evil? I don't know, but I wanted to end it, to end it all, and that was the only thing that voice promised me.
As I walked through the halls I couldn't help myself. I started to cry. Seeing all these kids, all these pointless kids leading pointless lives, dating people they weren't going to marry, worried more about tests that didn't matter, they didn't realize that life was more important than all of that stupid crap, more important than so and so breaking up with so and so, or that the principal does this, or that so and so had sex with whoever, none of that is really important. But the voice. The voice kept talking, and I kept walking.
I cried as I walked closer and closer to the bathroom, and people looked at me strangely. It wasn't a sobbing sort of crying, just the sort where I was indifferent to everything, my face paralyzed in it's blankness, tears, like water just falling.

I walked inside and there was a few girls talking in the corner. One was texting on her phone and another was putting on mascara. They looked at me strangely. I could picture them thinking in their little perfectly prettied up, expensive Toni and Guy haircutted heads, "Oh, it's the freak. The girl that has scars. The girl with the bruised eyes. The cigarette burns. The fuck up, the messed up girl." They turn their heads in a wave of perfumed disgust, and walk out.
I go inside and get ready. There are pipes sticking above me, and I put my feet on the edges of the toilet seat, and stand up. I tie the rope into a noose. It's actually quite easy, I learned how to on the internet. You can learn anything on the internet these days, from how to make a dog orgasm to how to make an atom bomb.

So there I am, right? I'm crying my eyes out, I'm listening to that voice that is controlling me, I'm putting the noose around my fragile neck, and suddenly, I hear a girl farting. And I don't mean farting, I mean like a 'plop'ing sound, like a log of shit landing in a bowl of water. And suddenly I realize that as I am trying to commit suicide, there is a girl in the stall beside me taking a crap.

I don't know what to do. It's very odd, and I don't want to do this while so and so is pooping up logs with undigested corn kernels in them.

I wait.

And I wait.
And I wait some more.

She leaves, she flushes.

Finally I tighten the rope around my neck. I waited for something to happen, I tried to think of one last thought, one, important thing to say or whatever, but... there was nothing. It was so horribly sad. And the voice, the whole time, the voice.

I scream as loud as I can. I don't care anymore about anything, I scream as loud as I can, my voice is unfamiliar and sounds like I am being tortured or in hell, it is a piercing shriek that echoes off of the tiled walls, and I drop like a log.

And I find that I actually drop.

In a split second before I went to that place where there is no return from, I hear a snapping sound of metal, and a quick thought goes through my head, --the pipe!, and I fall and my head crashes into the porcelain toilet, my skull reverbrates and echoes and I hear something like the entire world splitting in two, and right before I fall to the ground, right before I am bleeding out of my new orifice from my skull, I realize one single thought, I think to myself, "Wait a minute, was that worth--"

and then





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