When I first heard, it was like my entire world was crushed in the space of a second.

I walked through the kitchen, blankly opening drawers and closing them again. I knew where I had to look, but I was slowly putting it off, one empty space at a time. I was scared, so scared, but I knew it had to be done.

"Wendy? Where's Mom?"

My knuckles were turning white as my hands clenched and unclenched. I could feel a cold sweat trickling down my back as I ran out of spaces to look. My eyes drifted sluggishly across the room to the knife block, and I felt something catch inside my chest.

I struggled to form words, my mouth opening and closing like a drowning goldfish's. My five year old brother stared up, his usually-happy face twisted into one saturated with worry. His other brother, at that time seven, looked confused as well, but the final brother at the age of ten had tears running down his face behind me.

I walked over and picked up the longest, sharpest weapon in the block. For a second, I admired the tool. It was perfectly sharpened and gleamed in the dull light of my kitchen. I almost felt bad about using it. Surely what was left of my family wouldn't ever want to touch it again.

I didn't know what to tell him. Little Mikey and Charlie looked so innocent. As the air refused to process inside my throat and create language, I heard Dylan speak. "She's gone."

I walked up the stairs on some sort of autopilot, absentmindedly digging the tip of the knife into my palm. It was definitely sharp enough to do the job right. I felt wet warmth starting to make my hands slick and I stopped as I reached the bathroom. As soon as I closed the door, I locked it.

Dad stayed in his room for three days. I could hear sobbing at night, and angry grunts and yells during the day. During that time period, I thought those were the worst days of my life, taking care of my three younger brothers without help. I was wrong.

Sinking down onto the cold tiles, I stared up at the ceiling. Light, stain from when Charlie threw a ripe plum, exhaust fan and mildew spot. It was all there. Just like it had been a year ago. Just like it had been before my entire life fell apart.

As the days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, I realized I was getting sick. I wasn't coughing or throwing up or anything, but something inside felt horribly wrong. It was like my organs had been torn out. My brothers were trying to adapt and my Dad was trying to pretend that nothing was gone for their sake, but I hadn't changed. Nothing could fill up that awful, awful hole. I couldn't live like this. I was going to wither away into nothing.

I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and stared at the picture my Dad had taken last year, just a few months before it happened. There I was, with braces and pigtails and a sour expression with Dylan, Charlie and Mike standing next to me with big smiles. Something burned within me. I had no right to be sad back then when nothing was wrong.

So, after months of trying to be ok, I knew what I had to do. For the sake of my family, so I didn't drag them down with me. For the sake of my friends, who didn't hang out with me anymore anyway. For my sake, because my guts were dripping out and nothing could stop them.

I closed my eyes and let the metal pierce the flesh of my chest.

I knew immediately I had done something wrong, because I didn't die. I had missed. But I had hit something.

My scream of pain echoed through the house because I couldn't breathe anymore. Every breath of air came back out with drops of blood and I started coughing and sobbing and falling. I heard a voice in the hallway outside and began whispering to myself, "No. No. Not Dylan."

I heard him knocking and then trying the door, followed by an anxious question I couldn't process. I let out another scream of pain because although I was breathing, the blade of the knife had turned into flowing magma. Then came the sound of a screwdriver and the crack of wood.

I felt my brother's arms wrap around me and felt his yells and shouts vibrate through his chest. The door crashed to the ground behind him. Somebody was running up the stairs, but I couldn't see who. My life was flashing before my eyes, and despite the fact I couldn't recognize many of the images, (I had never, ever seen them before, I was sure of it,) I felt as though they all belonged.

My mother's warm arms around me and my Dad laughing.

My brothers playing freeze tag in the living room while I yelled, and was tickled as a result.

The walls of the local tourist trap's gift shop surrounding me for hours and hours.

A friendly handshake from a guy in a question mark shirt.

Two kids sitting on the counter in front of me, trying to cheer me up.

A boy in a pine tree hat snuggled up to my chest as we watched a movie.

The pictures continued to flood my mind as I was hoisted up into the air. I could smell my dad from the instant I was lifted. The air rushed by my wet cheeks as he descended the stairs with my brothers in tow and ran out the door. I didn't hear it close. Everything was going black.

White.

White was the only thing I saw. I blinked and opened my eyes, seeing more white before I realized it was the ceiling. There were faint beeps coming from a machine hooked up to my chest, as well as tubes sticking out of my arms. I wasn't in my flannel anymore. Briefly I wondered where my hat had gone.

For a second, I wanted to see those images again. I wanted to see that tourist trap and be bored, despite the fact I'd never been there. I wanted to see those kids and feel happy. I wanted to see the boy in the pine tree hat and feel loved.

Somebody came in and told me my vitals were stable before I saw my family. For a second, I thought I saw my mom beside them, smiling sadly.

"Wendy!"

I jolted awake. Somebody was staring at me, their face alight with excitement. Mabel. "Wendy, you fell asleep! Don't worry, I won't tell Stan."

"You ok?" I heard another voice and saw Dipper looking anxiously at me. "You looked kinda… uh… sad, when you were dreaming. I wanted to wake you up, but then you started to smile…"

"No, it's fine," I quickly dismissed. "Just… remembering something. I'm ok now."

"Well, then you have to help us build a water balloon cannon!" Mabel squeaked, grinning ear to ear. Dipper nodded, scratching the back of his neck and giving me a weak smile as well. I felt the corners of my mouth uncontrollably rising.

"Sure, dudes."

I'm ok now.

There was a youth suicide awareness sticker on Manly Dan's truck.