Elena died last night. I can't handle the pain. She was the best and only good part of every day. I've done nothing all day. I've just been lying in my bed. No tears will come. I have a bubble in my chest and can't breath properly. Words don't come out. I don't want to go to the funeral tomorrow night. People will just ask questions I don't want to answer.
I finally build up the energy to stand up to find a pair of snippers for the garden. I glide the jagged edge, forming a groove in my neck. Warm blood slowly trickles down my chest, staining my shirt. When the bleeding slows, I am not satisfied. I find a bread knife and force it into my torso. The pain is gone. Finally.
