TSC 3 Rashel

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this chapter is based off of three days grace's song never too late. sorry if i offend anyone with the way i talk about suicide or how i break down the song 

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   I was so tired of feeling this way. Locked up inside myself because of what happened. My parents never even suspected. They never asked why I was so quiet after he left. Why I shyed away from contact. They were blind to my problems. No one could have helped then, when I was younger. And no one can help now. 

   I had a funny uncle. Not funny as in ha ha, great joke, funny as in he did things that you should never do to someone, even if you are related. No one rescued me then, and even when they say its not too late, they're wrong. It is too late. Too late to change what happened. Too late to stop what it did to me. And too late to save me today. I can hear my angel calling. As if I'm not crazy enough, I see angels. 

   They don't always see me though. I looked at the clock. Its time. The thought made my skin crawl, but I was past caring. I was going to end it, right now. No one had ever seen this side of me. No one would ever guess that there was something wrong.  

   I picked up the small gun. I put to where my heart beat, where you put your hand during the pledge. I closed my eyes, and with a smile on my face, I pulled the trigger. There was a sharp burst of pain, followed by a blissful numbness.  

  I could faintly feel my dark angel picking me up and the stomach-less feeling of flight. And then everything went black. 

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 Something felt wrong. I was opening my eyes, and not dead. A smiling nurse came into sight.  

"Oh good, you're awake. I'll send your doctor in." she walked away before I could ask what was going on. 

Through the door came a serious looking woman.  

"Where am I?" I asked before she could say anything. 

"You're in the hospital. 

"Really?" I muttered, "I meant why?" these words came louder. 

"You were shot, the bullet just missed an artery. Do you remember who did it?" 

I let out a dry chuckle, "It would be hard not to, seeing as I shot myself." 

Her expression turned slightly incredulous, but almost like she had been expecting an answer like that. "Suicide." 

 It sounded like a statement, but I gave her an answer anyhow, "Yes, suicide. How many other 20 years-olds with close range shots do you get when it wasn't suicide?" 

 She snorted. "Not many. You know that when the officers find this out you're going to the asylum, right?" 

"I kinda figured when I woke up. Do you know who brought me here?" 

"No, why?" 

"Because I live alone and have industrial bolts on the door and windows." 

"I'll find out if they ER doctor knows." And with that, she left 

"Great," I said. So maybe I wasn't insane. Maybe my angel did take me here. 

  Through the doors, I could hear a melody. It was hauntingly familiar, and with a shock, I remembered why. It was what the angel was singing as I lay dying in his arms.

Maybe we'll turn it around 'cause it's not too late, it's never too late. It's not too late, it's never too late.

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