Six Feet Underground

The rain was pouring down, soaking me to the bone seconds after I stepped out of the shop. I locked the door and pulled the security gate closed. I stepped fully into the rain, letting the icy coldness take over. The darkness that surounded me was terrifying yet comfortable.

I was on my way, my head bowed as I walked against the rain. There was no wind, just rain. It came down fercly, pounding on the buildings, cement and my head. My hair was now clinging to the side of my face.

I shivered as I neared an old house. There was a tree house in the back yard. I decided in a split second that I could use some shelter from this weather, I could not afford to get sick again.

I began climbing the wood planks nailed to the trunk. I pushed my self up into the dry house. It was small, but oddly it seemed warm and cozy, even though the weather conditions were the exact opposite. I looked around me. Many things were laying around. Boxes, crates, theusual tree house things. But there were a few things missing: no drawings on the walls, no toys, no anything that would suggest that there had been life inhabiting this tree house.

I saw a box that had a note stuck to it. I scooted over to it, pulled the note off and opened the old paper.

To whoever fins this:
I hope you take good care of the tings in this box. You can take it home, read the journals, and cherrish the memories left behind with the items in the box. I know I can't anymore. Hope you enjoy and try to find him for me.
xoxo
Gerard

Gerard? Who's Gerard? That name sounds so fimiliar. I'v eheard it before. I opened the box and found several notebooks. I picked one the first one and opened it the first page.

March 12, 1992
He died! He fucking died! I can't believe it. He said he would never leave me. And what does he do? He goes and kills himself. He promissed me he wouldn't do it.
I found him. On the floor. Blood around him. A note in hand. It said not to hate him. I can't help it. He left me here alone. I have to walk this damned earth for te rest of my life alone, empty. My wrists are raw from itching.
Mom is worried. She wounders why I wear long sleaves. I can't bear to tell her. It would break her heart and then she will leave me, just like Mikey did. No one loves me.
Jocks at school suck. They push me around and call me a drunk. I can't help it. I love the taste of the stuff. The feeling of the liquid running down my throat. It all comes with the depression. The pills do nothing. Just a thing to label me with. I've stopped taking them. They make it worse. They make the itching worse.
They make the urge to drink worse.
The drugs never work. I'm just another lie in their books. They try to clean m up, but I just fall harder.
An empty fith of Jack lies next to me. It's gone, wasted just like the others around my room. Drinking is the only thing the brings peace to those thoughts. Sometimes that doesn't even stope them. They come and go. Sometimes taking over my body and forcing me to harm myself, hoping it will all end. I don't feel the same anymore, since he left me.
He was my life, my only friend. He was the one that was always there for me. Held me back, kept me away from the drugs and drinks. But now that he's gone, I find myself with the bottle in my hand all the time. As much as I try to fight it. I always end up with the contents gone within the minute.
Sometimes I can't even remember where I was the day before, deing so drunk. Sometimes it's hard to remember the simplest things. Like the day, what I had for dinner, if I ate, or what I was wearing. I feel dump in school, I always forget the information needed to pass tests. And homework, I never remember to bring it home, or if I do, I forget what I was supposed to do.
Art is the only thing I'm good at. I don't need to remember anything for that. Just to let your mind paint the picture. The itching comes again. Better go or I will start to bleed again.
xoxo
Gerard

I found tears running down my face as I finished reading the first entry. It scared me to think someone had to go through that, but I knew exactly how he felt, knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling the time he wrote the entry. It was like all of his emotions were preserved into the paper itself; like when ever this Gerard guy touched anything his feelings at the time are put into the thing itself, so when someone else comes by and touched the same spot, they know exactly how he felt. It's a hard thing to explain, but it happened to me just then; I knew how he felt.
The rain slowed down, turning into a light mist. It was peacefull. I took a deep breath to control the tears and to take in the freash smell. I loved being outside after it rained. The way the air smelt; the new freashness of it. It all just clamed me and made me relize how lucky I was to be here and not somewhere else.