A/N: This was written for a creative writing assignment, so it doesn't specifically mention their names, but use your imagination, I suppose.
I am leaving this
because I know very well
that the only thing that hurts more
than losing someone you love
is not knowing why.
And I know that by reading this,
you still probably won't understand
why
I would commit such a
heinous crime.
But at least I'll have tried.
Do you remember that day
when you were 4
and I was 7,
and we were running up the hill
outside Mom and Dad's old summer house?
Do you remember falling -
that shard of glass,
probably from some village idiot's
broken beer bottle,
embedded in your knee?
There was blood,
so much blood,
fleeing from its prison
of bones and skin.
It looks the same way
on my skin, too.
Do you remember how it
stained the grass
the colors of
life and death?
I -
you -
we were so scared.
You couldn't walk,
and you looked up at me
with eyes that screamed
"help me" -
have you heard my eyes screaming?
I lifted you
with every ounce of strength
in my 7 year old body
and I carried you down
to the front door,
do you remember that russet red door?
When Mom and Dad saw you,
they pulled you away from me -
why didn't you ever come back to me?
You were in the hospital
for three days.
The glass had gone deeper
than we'd thought.
Mine has gone just as deep
as I need it to.
You didn't know why
we were there.
Do you remember me holding your hand?
You were so cold.
Am I cold?
You and I were back at the hospital
11 years later
and I held you
when the man in red-stained white told us
they didn't make it.
You didn't want me to drive,
do you remember saying that?
You didn't want to lose me
like we'd lost them.
I'm so sorry.
We walked home,
I tried to distract you
from your sadness -
do you remember stopping
to look at flowers?
You always loved
the red tulips.
Will you bring some for me
after I'm gone?
On our street,
when you saw their house,
you collapsed
and your body shrunk
shriveled
and shook with sobs.
Do you remember me carrying you?
Or were you crying too hard?
I carried you to that
russet red door,
and your boyfriend opened it.
Do you remember calling him?
I hadn't seen you do it.
He pulled you away from me -
why didn't you ever come back?
4 years later,
I suppose you'll be at the hospital
again.
Have you called the ambulance by now?
I wish you wouldn't cry.
I can't hold you anymore -
maybe Mom and Dad have
pulled me away from you.
I'm sorry I can't come back.
Will you remember me?
Hold me hand, please.
Sorry it's covered in sticky red.
Then again,
that always has been the color
of life and death.
A/N: Sorry if I made any of you sad, I didn't mean to (although idk, maybe I did). This was also actually the first time I've ever written a suicide piece and not actually identified at all with it (for which I'm proud of myself). Part of this is loosely based on something I read in Our Darkest Hour by DarkLordBeyonce. If you'd like, review, if not, no worries; I just thought I'd put this up here for shits and giggles. Peace :)
~ Charlie