A/N: I'm sorry this is kind of a downer. I think the long hiatus is making me melancholic.
Setting: It can be read as pre-series or alternatively after 6x22 Blue Bird if Jane hadn't caught the plane.
Warning: Major character dead.
Disclaimer: Be glad I don't own The Mentalist.
I should be happy, but I really only ever feel like crying.
I had everything.
Everything you could possibly want, I had.
But I wanted more.
In the end it wasn't greed that did me in, it was cowardice.
I gave up.
Let fear cripple me.
Take over my whole existence, until it ended up consuming me.
Drowning out the voices of reason.
Crushing any hope.
Mixing anticipation with fear in a cocktail readily taken.
It was easy. I took the easy way out.
Made the world stop.
Made everything
Stop
Hurting.
Though the words sounded well thought out, the note itself looked as if it was scribbled in haste. The ink carelessly smeared, the words tilted unnaturally far to the right, like they might pick up and run off the paper at a moment's notice.
Unruly, sunflower coloured, soft curls were sticking out in all directions. The head onto which they were attached rested peacefully on a pillow. Face serene, eyes closed, a trace of a smile gracing his cold lips.
"Such a waste." The coroner said after having finished his external examination and concluded suicide. Crimson marks stretched upwards from the man's pale wrists, the few uneven inches of red spoke their own language.
The police officer carefully picked up the note from the nightstand with her gloved hand and put it in a transparent plastic bag labelled evidence. "At least he's at peace now." She said, as she watched the coroner put the corpse into a black plastic body bag, wheel him out on a gurney, and place him in the back of an ambulance.
No sirens.
No flashing lights.
A beginning had ended.
And these endings weren't celebrated.
The police officer stood in silence as the ambulance disappeared around the corner.
One last ride. She thought.
One last journey.