she was a mess of a human. she couldn't do anything right. she needed a tutor to learn, an inhaler to breath, help from a tube to eat. she couldn't grow her hair or keep it, and she couldn't even stay in school. she needed medication to live and others blood to keep her heart beating. she felt helpless, alone. even though she relied on so many people for everything, she couldn't do anything.
but she was going to finally do something herself, all by herself. she pulled out the gun from under her bed and inspected it. it was small but oh so powerful. she wished she could be like that, but she was weak. there wasn't a single drop of power in her blood.
she loved how the soft, smooth metal felt between her frail hands. she loved the trigger that wrapped around her finger perfectly, as if it were customized just for her.
she stroked it once more, then held it about two inches above her left ear. if she pulled the trigger, it would end her suffering, her helplessness, her need of constant help and supervision.
the bullet would feel so good, a sudden jolt of pain, but it sounded so exhilarating. she had wanted to do this for so long, and she was so ready.
and she pulled the trigger.
