He whom dies

                                               

Glaring at the board never helped.  He just couldn't pay attention.  Everything this particular teacher taught him seemed to go in one ear and out the other.  Until one day, when a mysterious saying rang in his head, one that teacher had taught him.  This is about that saying, this boy.

"He whom dies, lives.  He whom lives, dies."  The teacher said, holding a flashlight to his already pale face in an attempt to look frightening.  It was working, because all of the students surrounding him had a terrified look on their faces.  Everyone was afraid of death, afraid that talking about it would cause it to happen.

          (When one of these kids hears anything about death, they freak out.  What is wrong with them?  Don't they know all die sometime?)

          "Adam Park, are you listening?"  The teacher bellowed.  I nodded, but said nothing.  I wasn't the talkative type.  I never was.

          The class of room 809 from Angel Grove High was on a trip.  No one I knew was in this homeroom; they were in other sections of the woods.  Yes, camping.  My stepmother made me go.  She said I was too antisocial, too closed up to be a very successful person.  I disagreed, but said nothing to hint of my disapproval.  So, here I was, listening to creepy sayings and whispered gossip.  And getting sick of it.  Until he said the one about death.  It caught my attention, made me think about things that hadn't even begun to enter my head yet.

          That evening, I sat picking at my food, still thinking.

          (Does it mean…that if you die, you live, and if you live, you die?  That's not decoding.  I'm still confused.)

          Time seemed to fly as I continued to think, unaware it was two minutes to lights out.

          (Could it mean…you're better off dying?)

          Lights out.  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.  I was aware my cabin was going on a raid, but, as usual, couldn't care less.

          That night, I had a dream.  And the night after that.  The night after that, and the one after that, too.  It was the same one, with me all alone with a razor blade, my cut wrists, and lots of blood.

          "No!"  Sitting up, I saw my all black room, my closed curtains, my closed door.  I was in my room, my tidy room with not even a speck of paper on its black plush carpet.

          (What could that dream mean?)

          A few days later, the dream stirred up again.  It was then I realized the true meaning of the saying.

          (Death…and life.  How do they compare?  How do they contrast?  Is there really a difference between the two?)

          My realization shocked me.

          (The saying is showing it is better to die than to live.  It is implying that life is just an impossible obstacle, that the afterlife is the luxury, not life itself.  That there indeed is a heaven, and that it is much better to die.  For then, you go to heaven, and enjoy it all.)

          A few moments after the thought perished, I knew my destiny.  I headed to the bathroom.

          There I lay, counting the seconds to my departure.  Counting them down one by one.  5…4…3…

          (Goodbye all.  I wish you good luck.)

          I felt myself slip away, and I saw my body leaned over, a razor blade next to me, my wrists bleeding out all my lies, all the crimson lies that had stained the earth to discontent.  All the lies from all the people before me, all the people after.  I was sacrificing myself to let the lies out, to turn them into truths.  I was helping.

          And I descended up, to whatever pleasures awaited me.  

Author's Notes:  Yeah, replying to some recent reviews, I didn't model this after Adam.  I did use the character, yes, but I actually used the thought of teen suicide and just put Adam in it, since he is my favorite power ranger.  I really wrote this for a writing contest I was going to enter, but I thought it was too graphical for a children's book of short stories.  Therefore, being the person I am, I decided to share it with my fellow writers here on fanfiction.net.  Actually, I am beginning to revise it and make it longer and make more sense, since I am not happy with the sudden suicide either.  

And now I want to make a few things clear:  I really don't think I want to change the title.  I like it the way I said it, and I really don't get the whole grammar explanation thing (sorry, Kristen Cole!).  I think it just makes more sense that way, and it just sounds better, because I think 'whom' sounds more in-depth, you know?  Anyway, again on the subject of the character-when I originally wrote the story, I used my own made-up, twisted form of Adam that I've been molding and playing with since 5th grade, and that's who the character really is.  He has appeared in almost all of my other stories on fanfiction and fictionpress as many different things, (such as a vampire, a monster, etc.) and that is the Adam I used.  Please don't yell, and say 'Well, why did you put that story here then?!' because Adam Park is the original donor of the Adam I created.  And for the last thing, no, you don't have to be happy that Adam died, because he's dead!  That's never a happy issue…not like I would know.  But anyway, I'm revising it currently, and I hope the point comes across clearer when it's finished!