Chapter Three: the Ending Life

What have I done? That was the only thought in my head as I tried to sleep, tossing and turning in within my crisp white sheets, my gray comforter scrunched up at the bottom of my bed. I was still sweating.

I sighed, and got up, knowing that my efforts at sleep were fruitless. It was past Two A.M. and I had started my attempt to sleep at ten. That was, err, four hours ago.

I slipped out of bed, and my feet touched the soft carpet of my bedroom, walking towards my desk and grabbing out a notebook. I opened it up to where I was continuing my story, that I had hoped to become a novel, and started writing, pressing harder than normal, with my writing a little less neat.

It took two hours for me to be able to write myself into peacefulness, and I barely got any sleep.

As soon as I got up, at six, I wanted to march into Vivian’s room and apologize, but my pride was too heavy at the time- and I insisted that it was all Vivian’s fault.

One of the lessons I learned during this time was that pride is nothing to bonds and love.

My parents picked up on the tension, but said nothing, choosing to let us work things out ourselves.

I ate my breakfast hastily that morning, rushing to the bus stop early, as it was a nice Autumn morning- and a Wednesday. I had always loved Wednesdays, since it meant that Monday was over, but I still had a few days of school ahead of me.

I was the first in line on the bus, and took my normal seat at the very front, while Vivian headed to the back with her friend.

I had wanted to scoot over, invite her to sit with me- but I did not want it enough. I should have reached out. Maybe then nothing else would have happened- but that could just be guilt talking, even after all this time.

The day was nearly normal, but I was jumpy, very jumpy, and my math homework was far worse than normal. Not to mention the building apprehension of detention looming over my head, causing me to pause my work to take deep breaths throughout the entire day, leaving me with more homework than normal.

The day was stressful, but the wonder of it would soon feel alien, like a golden ray of sun shining directly on me, giving me the perfect temperature and giving my brown hair a shiny glow.

The next day was worse, but the morning was still better than the days to come. My two friends, Lidia and Jaxon, had left me to spend time with my sister, whom at the time, I had insisted was someone we were better without.

What have I done? That was the only thought in my head as I tried to sleep, tossing and turning in within my crisp white sheets, my gray comforter scrunched up at the bottom of my bed. I was still sweating.

I sighed, and got up, knowing that my efforts at sleep were fruitless. It was past Two A.M. and I had started my attempt to sleep at ten. That was, err, four hours ago.

I slipped out of bed, and my feet touched the soft carpet of my bedroom, walking towards my desk and grabbing out a notebook. I opened it up to where I was continuing my story, that I had hoped to become a novel, and started writing, pressing harder than normal, with my writing a little less neat.

It took two hours for me to be able to write myself into peacefulness, and I barely got any sleep.

As soon as I got up, at six, I wanted to march into Vivian’s room and apologize, but my pride was too heavy at the time- and I insisted that it was all Vivian’s fault.

One of the lessons I learned during this time was that pride is nothing to bonds and love.

My parents picked up on the tension, but said nothing, choosing to let us work things out ourselves.

I ate my breakfast hastily that morning, rushing to the bus stop early, as it was a nice Autumn morning- and a Wednesday. I had always loved Wednesdays, since it meant that Monday was over, but I still had a few days of school ahead of me.

I was the first in line on the bus, and took my normal seat at the very front, while Vivian headed to the back with her friend.

I had wanted to scoot over, invite her to sit with me- but I did not want it enough. I should have reached out. Maybe then nothing else would have happened- but that could just be guilt talking, even after all this time.

The day was nearly normal, but I was jumpy, very jumpy, and my math homework was far worse than normal. Not to mention the building apprehension of detention looming over my head, causing me to pause my work to take deep breaths throughout the entire day, leaving me with more homework than normal.

The day was stressful, but the wonder of it would soon feel alien, like a golden ray of sun shining directly on me, giving me the perfect temperature and giving my brown hair a shiny glow.

The next day was worse, but the morning was still better than the days to come. My two friends, Lidia and Jaxon, had left me to spend time with my sister, whom at the time, I had insisted was someone we were better without.

They did not take kindly to my words, which, looking back, is the only reasonable response I could see. At the time, I had called them traitors, backstabbers, and fake friends. I accused them of showing favoritism, and hating me for the tiniest of flaws. They just walked away, and we never got our bond back. We became friends again, but never to the extent we had at the time.

When I got to detention, with Miss Brooks herself, I was directed to work on homework.

I really never understood why teachers would demand we do homework in detention, rather than some other task. We would have to do the homework even if we did not get detention!

Some students, such as myself, would feel punished enough from the shame, the guilt, and the horror. Most would not truly care and go mostly unpunished, leaving them to keep up the same bad behavior without fear of consequences.

Detentions such as these punished the exemplary students, the examples, the righteous more than those who truly deserved discipline and punishment!

After many years, I have realized that such a thing can not be helped, no matter how angry I was as a teenage girl.

Finally, after what seemed like years of working my hand into cramps, but was really only a single hour, I was dismissed.

My dad was supposed to pick me up, but after nearly twelve minutes of waiting, I grew impatient and grabbed my cell phone, a flip phone (that was really very new at the time), and called my father.

It went straight to voicemail. So did the next call, eight minutes later, the next five minutes later, and the next three two minute later.

I started pacing the parking lot, running my hands through my brown hair and messing it up drastically, something I had not done is years, extremely worried about my father.

I flipped open my phone and was just about to call my mother when I saw her racing towards me and pulling me into a wet, salty hug.

“Mom, what?” I gasped, finding it hard to breath in her tight embrace. “What happened? Where’s dad?”

Mom looked at me, her gray eyes watering heavily.

I saw Vivian over her shoulder, crying just as much as our parent.

“Your father…” mom murmured, barely able to squeeze the words out, “was in a car accident on the way to get you. He’s… dead.”