So. I'm not feeling guilty what so ever... At all. But having that review did help me notice things that were wrong and may have given me some inspiration back to this old fiction. Maybe. Who knows. ;]
I own only Teardre and anything circled around her life including this story line. Thank you.
Teirdre sat on her bed, contemplating how she was going to do it.
She had already written her letter, telling her family that she loved them and this was not their fault.
With everyone out doing his or her own things, she was alone, able to figure out the best way to go.
Knife. Pills. Gun. The choices she had chosen. She didn't dare touch a noose not wanting her family to come home and see her hanging from the rafters eyes bulged out.
'Knife?' She thought, 'Too messy, I don't want them to see the blood stains remembering this day…' With knife crossed off, next was pills. 'Pills? Maybe but I don't know which will do it, I don't want to live and just carry a heavy weight of guilt and have my family suffer with it…'
Gun. A gun. She knew where her best bet to shoot was. Through the brain, 'Painless,' She thought, 'The brain has no nerves.'
Getting up, she went into the hall and down, towards her parents' room. Going in and reaching the bed, she went on hands and knees and searched beneath the bed skirt, looking for what she knew was hidden below. Successfully finding it, she backtracked and carried the gun case to her room. Upon entering set it down, and taking her leave once more, went down to the garage.
Entering said garage, she went to a shelf, and took down a plastic sheet used for painting. Upon finding the sheet she left for her room.
Going in to her room, she slowly closed the door and spread the sheet out, taking care to cover any spots that showed the tan carpet with tissues that she had stuffed in her bedroom awhile back.
When all the objects that might get in her way were covered, she unlocked the gun case, opened it, and took the gun out. Checking to see if the thing was loaded, she took it and positioned it about an inch above her right ear, pressing firmly to her skull as she positioned herself so when she fell, the blood wouldn't splatter on any uncovered carpet.
Biting her lip, she pulled the trigger, feeling the bullet lodge itself through its homemade hole in her skull. Tissue and vein gave way to the man-made object.
Teardre's face became blank, eyes shutting to never open again.
Our star of this story falls to the sheeted ground: dead.
Review if you want. :] It's always appreciated if you do...