“Slam!” The sound of the door echoed across the neighborhood as the trees blurred past me. I hope they heard me. I wanted them to hear. My feet carried me forward as the distance between life and death increased.”Almost there”, I breathed. I could hear the rush of cars, the honks of horns and the sound of tires on water. I sped past the bushes, and my eyes finally met my destination. A couple more steps and I would be free. I wondered if I should have waited for a bigger vehicle. Red lights, Green lights, yellow lights. The traffic was heavy and I wanted a try. I wanted to run with the cars. I thought about the all too likely pain, but at that moment, the majority of my mind was numb to all senses. Pen and paper could not save me this time. I was not brave. I was not brave enough to handle the pain, nor was I brave enough to take the step. Either that or I was not stupid. Thinking back some weeks, I should have put the knife into my chest when I had the chance. I backed up and ran to some nearby trees. I lay on the bare grass, tears filling my eyes, my world getting flooded. As I looked to the sky, I heard the faint cry of my name. I did not know who it was, nor did I care. Blue and Red lights filled my surroundings and the sound of police sirens drummed into my ears. I felt the cold hands pull me up, and the cries of relief around me. But it was not my cry of relief. No, I was far from relieved. My mother, the look in her eyes, and the streams of water from her eyes made me realize the result of my act. She looked at me with fear and questioning. I had been selfish, oh yes. But I did not want to admit that to anyone. Was I crazy? I had nothing to live for, except death. The only problem would be I would regret not witnessing the look on everyone’s faces when I was gone.

Psalm 139