Make Sure You're Still Alive

I lay on the floor, the black paint on it shining from the light coming out of the window. The walls and ceiling, also black, were nothing but a beautiful distraction. The room, in itself, was dull, boring and silent. But at the same time it said a thousand words. With nothing in the room but myself- I felt at peace. A very sacred time indeed.

I knew they would be coming soon,but I would be gone by then it's impossible that no one heard the shrill bang. It could have easily blown out my eardrums, even though I was looking for more then that. I really think that only the insane are sane in times like these. Any normal person would be screaming for help, trying to get outside to be heard. Any normal person wouldn't find peace in watching their own crimson blood splatter the walls, floor and ceiling. And any normal person surely wouldn't have attempted the very act that got me in this predicament, immobile on the floor.

But of course, I'm not normal. I've been told that many times so I surely know that fact.They'll never let me forget. I let out a shaky breath, but coughed as I did so. I smiled as I felt the blood emerge from my mouth. This was a happy time, I was leaving after all.

Is this what utter bliss feels like? I really do take pleasure in it.

My fingers on my left hand twitched against the floor.

Why was this taking so long?

My utter bliss shattered like a glass window as I heard sirens nearby.

No, they can't come here now!

I let out a distorted scream as I heard the door slam open and others enter the room. They misinterpreted the scream as one of agony, but it was really one of anger.

"Hurry, get him on the stretcher!" someone yelled.

I could feel my body being lifted and placed onto what I assumed was the said stretcher. My left hand twitched more violently then it had before.

Stop it! Get me off of this thing now! I want to stay here! No!

"Is he breathing?" someone asked as the car I was placed in moved.

"Yes, call the hospital. Tell them we are on our way."

No we aren't! Stop it! Stop it now! Why am I still breathing? What the hell did I do wrong?!

A doctor hovered over my body, "Kid, can you hear me?"

I coughed and watched as blood splattered the doctors nice clean white shirt. Take that. That's what you get for ruining my plans, jackass.

The doctor grimaced and said something to the other ones, but I didn't listen. I lay there, sure of myself that my task was about to be accomplished and I have no need to worry. I'll be gone soon. Patience is a virtue. Mind you, I think I've been patient long enough. I let a bloody smile go across my face as I heard the heart rate monitor carry out a long beep, just like in my dreams.

-x-

His parents never saw it coming, nor did his classmates. Everyone agreed that if his dog Bart, who was his best friend, was human he wouldn't have seen it coming either. No one saw it coming because simply no one paid enough attention to Sam to notice. No one knew him as a friend, besides his dog of course. Attempted suicide is what plastered every newspaper in town. Front page material, but it wasn't what he wanted. 'Suicidal Sam' was the name that flew throughout the school's hallways when everyone heard. No one cared, it's not like he actually died. Those were the thoughts of many students at his school when the incident was announced to everyone.

Maybe they were just trying to make jokes about the situation to make it pass by. To make sure nothing damaged their perfect world. Or maybe, just maybe, they were afraid and didn't want to show it. Sam imagined, or maybe even fantasized, what the kids in school would be saying about him.

'Better him then us,' one student would speak with a chuckle.

'What do you mean?' the other would ask, genuinely confused.

'Better he killed himself then used that gun to go around the school shooting at the rest of us,' the first one would explain with a smirk.

But that conversation wouldn't exactly happen. Instead of 'better he killed himself' it would be 'better he tried killing himself.' The town knew many things about what Sam tried to do. Not only did the news give out his name to the world, but they also said how he tried to do it. They made him sound stupid. That Sam kid is so clumsy, couldn't even position the gun against his head and hold it there long enough to pull the trigger. Kid's so dumb he couldn't even kill himself.

What truths those all were. Sam did in fact use a gun for his attempted suicide. He planned it out for weeks, it wasn't just the spur of the moment. If a person entered his room and looked in the bottom drawer of the dresser in his closet they would find the written plans. A detailed drawing of the room, with Sam on the floor- a gun clutched in his left hand and a hole through his head. Sam even carefully drew the blood splattered everywhere with a ball tip red pen. To other eyes, it would be poorly drawn and very disturbing. But to Sam, it was a masterpiece. The drawing was even to scale, Sam wanted it perfect. And since he was good at math it didn't take long to get the scale exactly how he wanted it.

The month, day and even exact time was planned for the event to take place- August 15, 6:13 AM. Sam wanted there to be a sunrise showing through the one window in the dark room, he wanted the sun rise to be red. He thought it would make it look more beautiful. Also on the paper in bold letters was 'One inch above left ear.' He knew the exact place where it would surely work. Failing in this act wasn't an option for Sam.

If you searched Sam's history on his computer you would find many websites with suicide documents. Some with pills, some jumpers, but most were ones that involved guns. Other websites that showed the human brain would also be found in the computer's history. Sam knew where he could plunge a bullet through his skull and it would work. He didn't want a fast kill though. No, instead he wanted at least three minutes to be lying on the floor still alive. Sam knew he would be content, in utter bliss- which he did experience.

He even knew how long it would take the ambulance to get to that building if someone called 911 the moment the gun was fired. He thought he would have plenty of time to lay on the floor, then peacefully die in bliss.

But Sam didn't put one crucial piece of information into his death equation. In that whole week of planning, Sam thought nothing of his slight twitching problem. Ever so often Sam's left hand would twitch. A nerve problem in his wrist, at times his left hand would twitch so little no one would notice, his pointer finger may be the only thing that moved. Other times it would violently twitch, like Sam was about to put up his hand, but immediately changed his mind. Being left-handed, that twitching problem obviously got on his nerves. Maybe it was fate, but a mere second before Sam pulled the trigger his left hand violently twitched, maybe even more so then it usually does.

The nerve in his wrist apparently didn't want Sam to die then and there. The nerve was obviously rebelling- because Sam's brain wanted nothing more then for him to die at that moment. Sam didn't notice that his hand twitched though, he was more focused on the bullet that still went into his head. He didn't fall to the floor as the bullet went through his head. Sam decided it would be more of a dramatic scene if he was found lying in the middle of the dark room with blood splattered everywhere. So instead of hoping he fell where he wanted to, he laid down in the spot he desired. After all, it just had to match the drawing.

Sam left no suicide note, he didn't even let his parents know he was leaving the house at just past six in the morning. He wanted to rebel once in his life before he died. What better way to do it then to sneak out to kill yourself? Two things his parents were strongly against. The latter one never even came to their minds. That's what Sam loved so much about the idea, no one saw it coming.