I welcome you to Kurt Cobain. He was a poor man, with a deteriorating mental health. As a boy his family was poor, his mom was a waitress, his dad was a mechanic. Not good paying jobs, am I right? They lived in a small house. A pretty run down house. But he used to be happy, before his parents divorced. He used to be artistic, so full of life. Then at the age of nine his parents split, he went to live with his mother. Which means less income, doesn't it? Eventually he dropped out of school, he couldn't keep a job either, which didn't help his situation. Mother told him if he couldn't get an education, or couldn't work, she'd kick him out. Which is exactly what she did. So here is Kurt, living under a bridge, poor as dirt.
Kurt had very few friends, one of them was Krist Novoselic. Krist was a really nice guy. One of those gentle giants (he stood at about 6' 7", one would say). He tried helping out Kurt, but he's a stubborn folk. He's offered to have Kurt as his roommate, but Kurt would always decline. They both knew that Kurt wouldn't have a way to pay rent or anything, and Krist was struggling himself with his bills. Kurt didn't wanna be a freeloader or a burden to his friend. Krist pulled a friendly move, and decided to give him a lottery ticket.
"Hey, Kurt.", said Krist, to get the blondes attention.
Kurt was taken out of his state of thought, and looked up at the brunet. "What?"
"I've got you a present." Said Krist cheerfully.
Kurt sighed and asked what it was.
He took the present out of his back pocket, "A lottery ticket!"
The blonde was given the ticket, and asked with boredom, "What am I gonna do with this?"
"You're gonna win, Kurt."
"How am I supposed to know what the numbers are? I don't have a tv, Krist."
"You don't need a tv," he smiled, "I'll write the number down when I see it on tv. And then I'll come back here and see if you won."
"Yeah, like I'll win."
"You'll win, I know it."
Kurt muttered a quick thank you, and Krist told him it was no problem, and went on his way to work.
A few days after Kurt was given his gift, Krist kept his word, and wrote the winning numbers down. As soon as he left work, he jogged to the place where Kurt "lived". It's a pretty weird place to "live" isn't it? Under bridge? He saw Kurt sound asleep in his makeshift tent. He tried climbing inside and waking the guy up, but it was tight fit with Krist's size. So he gave up on that and found a stick lying around. He picked it up and poked Kurt till he let out a groan, signaling he was awake. Krist threw the stick to the side.
"Good afternoon there, bud." The tall man greeted the hobo.
"H-hey," the hobo mumbled as he sat up.
"I've got the numbers." He said as he took them out of his pocket.
Cobain nodded slowly. The gentle giant sat beside the guy. Cobain took out his lottery ticket out from under his pillow. Novoselic eagerly took the ticket from Kurt and compared it to his winning numbers. While he was doing that, Kurt light up a cigarette and took a long drag (he stole both the lighter and cigarette packet from a nearby store). Krist's eyes went wide and Kurt looked over at him with suspicion.
"So, did I win?" Kurt asked with a drag from his cigarette.
"KURT! OH MY GOD, KURT!" Krist shouted.
He raised an eyebrow at him, he knew his friend of his liked pulling jokes. When they were kids in school they were such pranksters. Krist shook him and told him he won. And. Showed him the comparison of the ticket and written numbers. The shaking caused Kurt to drop his cigarette, he was forced to stump it out before it could cause fire to his "tent".
"Great, I won."
"COULD YOU BE MORE EXCITED?"
"You made me drop my cigarette."
"I MADE YOU A MILLIONARE TOO!"
Kurt smiled, "Thanks, Krist."
Novoselic calmed himself down, "We gotta go turn this in, Kurt."
"I gotta go take a shower too." Cobain said and light up another cigarette.
Krist laughed a bit, "Alright. You can shower at my apartment and then we can go cash it in."
He nodded and continued to smoke.
The taller one got up, "Get up, Cobain. I'm giving you a ride to my apartment."
"But you don't have a car."
"I have money for a taxi."
"You're just wasting your money."
"I don't care," he pulled him to his feet, "Come on."
The two took a taxi to a cheap apartment. Kurt had a long shower, he didn't care that eventually the water got cold. Not much mattered to Kurt Cobain. Later, the duo went to the gas station where Krist bought the ticket. They cashed it in, and Krist was right, it's a winning ticket. Good for Kurt. This caused a lot of attention in the gas station, and poor Kurt hated so much attention. People were cheering and clapping, Kurt just sighed. He tried being happy, but he just didn't feel the need. Krist was trying his best to cheer him up.
Eventually Kurt received the check. It was all over the news, of course. "A Unemployed Homeless Man Wins the Lottery" and titles of that nature were everywhere. This "fame" just made Kurt feel worse. He hated attention, he hated many things in general. He didn't like people anyway, not after what happened in his childhood. It's surprising how he has any friends, and a decent amount of those friends were bugging him for money. Even members of his family asked for money. He wouldn't give them the money anyway, why should he give his family money if they refused to help him? He didn't care about the money either, had no idea what to do with it. He felt he was better off before he won the lottery. Kurt thought about giving it to Krist, but Krist wouldn't take it.
His state of mind was worsening. He was questioning his existence. What was he doing anyway? All he did was waste his life away smoking stolen cigarettes under the bridge. Why should he live? Why should he go on? What's the point? He couldn't find a reason to live. A reason to go on. Couldnt find a point. Kurt couldn't be happy, couldn't feel good about himself. He even hated himself as well. His other close friend, David Grohl tried giving him advice. Reasons to live. Kurt just didn't believe Dave. He gave up everything, gave up on life. He decided to end it, to end his pain, end his problems, end his life. He believed that people would be better off with Kurt Cobain gone.
Cobain was good at stealing. We can tell, from the things he could steal from the nearby store. He made the decision he would go out with a gun. He stole a gun, from another store. Stole bullets. He didn't bother stealing pen and paper. He thought he was too lame to leave a suicide note. He thought that people would figure it out that he committed suicide anyway. He thought it didn't matter if they knew why either.
So here he sat, under the bridge. He felt comfortable, content with himself. He wasn't cold or numb anymore. Besides, it was April and things were warming up. He actually felt happy, he was ending the burden. How good it felt to be happy. He shakily loaded the gun with a bullet. One bullet was all it needed. Shakily, he inserted the gun into his mouth. Shakily, he pulled the trigger. Bang, its over with. Hes gone. The gun fell to the ground, so did his body. Blood was coming out of his ears, from the back of his head, from his mouth. Blood everywhere. What a sight. And there he lay, cold, painless, emotionless, still, and dead. The death of Kurt Cobain was April 5th,1994, he was 27.
