The Day I Died

I awoke early that morning. The alarm clock that sat on the dresser read only 3:00 AM. I dragged myself out of bed, slipped my silky robe over my shoulders, stepped into my fuzzy slippers, and headed for the shower across the hall. Just thinking, for once, thinking, as the warm watter cascaded down my body. I never wanted to leave that sweet caress of water. I forced myself out of the shower, toweled off, and walked back to my room wearing my robe. Staring at myself in the antique mirror, I was discusted by the sight. It was myself. The one who I hated the most. I stared into my own sky blue eyes, and glared at my blonde hair turned brown from the water. I took a solomn step back, and sat down on my bed. I just needed to think. I was getting tired of thinking. It hurt. I knew that my life did not matter. That they wouldn't care if i died. So, as I shed the last of my tears, I reached over to my nightstand and gently lifted up the knife. I cradled it in my trembeling hands, knowing this was for the good of the world. They would be better off without me. Slowly, it touched my neck, arousing me with the chill of its metal. I pulled it gently across, blood slowly trickeled down my body. I pulled it harder this time, and listened to the most discusting sounds I had ever heard spill from my mouth. It sounded as if a vacum was sucking up the blood as I attempted to take my last breath. The sounds ceased. My body went limp. And I was finally at peace. Written January 4th, 2002 © on Jan 04 2002 07:13 AM PST   0 • 10