Author's Note: I do not own The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton or the song, Goodbye I'm Sorry, by Jamestown Story. There are many references to depression and suicide and child abuse in this, so fair warning ahead of time for all. Some people might find this slightly controversial, but I don't mean it to be. I'm trying to show things from another point of view. And those of you who want a sequel to A Shot At Something Bigger, it's coming up, I swear, this has nothing to do with my book, though. It's just a sad little one shot thing. So here goes.
Time has run out for me everything's distant and I don't know what to believe. It's so hard lost in a world, confusion, and I need to leave for a while. Life is so meaningless there is nothing worth a smile, so goodbye I'll miss you.
The bathroom seems empty as you step out of the shower. A cold rush of air greets you and the open window lets in a shaft of bright sunlight that you shield your eyes from. The light still hurts your eyes and you can tell that the hangover mixed with all the guilt and pain you feel and a few shots of vodka is going to be what numbs the pain today. You glance at the clock. Nine thirty. It's almost time. You wish you could smile for a last time, but you can't remember the last time that you have really smiled. It hurts to think that your son, who you treated like an animal everyday, could have found something to smile over and laugh over, yet you can't even find one good thing in the world anymore, now that he is gone. Even though, when he was here, you made his life a living hell everyday. It was nothing to smile over at the time and it is still nothing to smile over. You can hear those god damn hoodlums yelling at you for being an animal and being the cause of your sons death. No, it wasn't that easy to shove blame for something like this. Do they really think that you wake up in the morning and want to beat your own son? Do they think that you find it fun? Do they think that it's a game to you? No, it's none of those things and right now, if you could bring him back in exchange for yourself, you would do it. Right now the closest you can come is making it even, you can't bring him back, but you can join him.
And I'm sorry, but this is my fate. Everything is worthless, no one wants me to stay and I'm sorry, but I've waited too long. So here's my good bye no one will cry over me, I'm not worth any tears.
All of the court ordered therapy session goes the same way, but you feel a certain obligation to go. You feel like if you skip out on the therapy, no matter how useless and frustrating it is sometimes that you're almost betraying the memory of your late son, but it doesn't matter because all the therapy in the world couldn't bring your son home now. He was gone for good. You can't help but feel the slightest bit of relief, though, and it's not because you don't have to take care if him now; it's because now that Johnny is gone he doesn't have to come home to a father like you and he doesn't have to bear the burden that you have thrust on him. Tonight, you have decided, is finally the night that you are going to rid the world of someone that doesn't even deserve the tears that were cried over them when they lost their job or when they started drinking or when they were arrested for the first time. Your parents cried, your wife cried, Johnny cried for you, but right now, if you could drown yourself in the tears, you would gladly do it.
It's been the years of abuse, neglecting to treat the disorder that controls my youth for so long. I'm in fleshy tomb buried above of the ground. It's no use. Why should I hold on it's been five years don't need one more, so good bye, life's abuse.
This isn't the first time you've decided to try to escape. It's been going on for about five years now, actually. Everyday you wake up, just trying to make it through the day; trying not to drown in your own tears or the massive amounts of liquor you consume everyday. Do they think that you're in your right mind when you hurt your son? No, never when you're not drunk. Do they think you can just stop drinking? Do they think it's that easy? Let's see them get their young wife pregnant and have to tie down right out of high school. Let's see them try to work three jobs and let's see them get fired from every single one of them. You start to wonder if those no good kids your son always hung out with have ever worked a day in their life. No, they were just dropouts. You weren't the real abuser. It was life. Life that threw all the hardships at you and your family. Life that forced you to pick up the bottle everyday. Life that made your wife pregnant so young and life that forced the hatful words out of your mouth at your young son. Life was the evil one; you were just a pawn in the game it was playing. You let yourself be manipulated, though, but not today. Not now, now you were going to show life that was in charge and you were going hold with the white flag to tell life that it was game over for you.
And I'm sorry, but this is my fate. Everything is worthless. No one wants me to stay and I'm sorry, but I've waited to long. So here's my goodbye no one will cry over me, I'm not worth any tears.
You get into the car and tense your hands on the wheel. You're going over to the hospital parking lot to do it. You want to be at place that your son was both born and where his life was cut so painfully short. He didn't deserve that. He was a good kid. He deserved a father who cared about him; it was just too bad you couldn't see that sooner before just the mere mention of your name struck fear into his heart. You wish you could smile and laugh with him like you did when he was younger. You wish that you could hold him in your arms and read to him or sing to him like you used to. You wish that he would come running home with a new book and ask you to read it or with a ball and ask you to come out and play. You used to play with him, but you can't anymore because you know that this time, he's not going to come running back home and it's your fault. The only thing you can think about as you drive over to the hospital is how you should have done this sooner. If you had executed this plan a few years ago, Johnny might still be here. Your wife may not have left with another man and you might have had a normal life. Your wife could have taken care of Johnny well if you had done this a few years ago and they would have been at home now, laughing and watching the television or reading a book. The home would never have reeked with the smell of cigarettes and liquor and the only black and blues he would have had would have been from fights with other boys. You flick the radio on in an attempt to distract yourself so you don't crash the car. That's not the way you want to do this. No, you have other plans.
Every eighteen minutes someone dies from a suicide. Every forty three seconds someone attempts one if you or anyone you know is suicidal call 180-784-2433.
You snap the radio off and start to count to forty-three. Someone just tried to kill him or herself. You think. Someone who probably has no reason, you on the other hand, is a different story.
And I'm sorry, but this is my fate. Everything is worthless. No one wants me to stay and I'm sorry, but I've waited to long.
You pull up to the hospital and get out, fingering your wife's bottle of sleeping pills. If you did this sooner then no one would have gotten hurt. Johnny would still be here. You take a deep breath and count to fourty theee and then you take the bottle and empty it into your mouth then chase it with liquor. You can feel your eyes shut after a while of sputtering to make sure they all went down. The last thing you think, because you're too weak to say it is; I'm sorry.
So here's my goodbye no one will cry over me, So, here's my good bye no one will cry over my, I'm not worth any tears.