Not Exactly the Greatest Gift

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You just got home after a horrible day at school. You've had enough.

You go to your room, and take out that suicide note you've written over and over. You pick up a knife and cut your wrists again, as deeply as you can this time. You grab that bottle of sleeping pills and take everything inside. You lie down, holding the letter to your chest, and close your eyes.

Your little brother soon enters your room to tell you that dinner is ready. He sees you lying on your bed, and runs off to tell your mom that you're asleep. Dad butts in, "Let her sleep, that lazy kid must be having a mood swing again."

A few hours later, Mom goes to your room to wake you up. Only then that she notices something is wrong. She grabs the note in your hand and reads it.

She tries to wake you up. Now sobbing aloud, she screams your name. Your brother hears her, and runs to you. He tries to shake you, but your body is already cold.

Your dad runs to your room, and finds your mom, crying, holding the letter to her chest, sitting next to your lifeless body. It finally hits him, and he screams. He throws something at the wall before falling to his knees. Your mom crawls over to him, and they sit there, holding each other, crying.

The next day at school, there's an announcement. The principal tells everyone about your suicide. It takes a few seconds for the news to sink in.

Your funeral comes up a few days later. The whole town came to give their condolences. People talk about all the memories they had with you. Everyone's crying and praying for you.

The next day, your death was the talk of the town, but for a different reason.

Those mean popular girls are unapologetic. They laugh at your demise, saying you're a wuss and an eyesore; you should have disappeared a long time ago. The bullies cluck their tongues, knowing they have one less ATM now.

That boy that used to tease you and call you names scoffs and says it's just another ugly ass, but he'll miss you because he only wanted someone to play with.

Your ex-boyfriend, the one who you told your secrets to, who broke up with you after taking your virginity and bragging about his conquest to the school... He shrugs, and then takes off with that popular upperclassman he slept with before ditching you.

Your friends feign shock and concern. They knew what you were going through, but they never thought it would get bad enough for you to end it. But as they gather in private, they sneer at you. They talk about how stuck-up you are, how you play the victim card, how you flaunt your depression and angst like it's a badge to act so soft. You're an attention whore, and they think your suicide was a stunt that went wrong. Serves you right.

Your teachers, who ignored your pleas of help, deny any neglect on their part. They insist you failed as a person for seeking the easy way out; you gave up too easily, and you crumbled under pressure.

The neighbors soon sing a different tune about you. You were the town bicycle, the attention whore, the nosy, lying, gossiping drama queen. You butt in at everyone's business. You act like you're crazy. Your life had no direction. You're an embarrassment to your family, more so because you killed yourself.

A few months later, everything's back to normal. Your teachers set you as an example of weakness of character. Those mean girls and bullies switched to another target. The boy that teases you became emboldened by your death, and has started harassing more people. Your ex-boyfriend is messing around with more girls. Your friends continue bonding happily like you're just an afterthought.

Your brother figures out the truth about your death, and then promptly calls you a disgrace. You were supposed to always be there for him, and you failed him. Your parents think so too. Surprisingly, they live on contently without you, as if a burden was taken off their shoulders.

As you wander in limbo, you witness all these and come to an epiphany. Your death will be meaningless. Nobody cared for real. Nobody loved you. And when you died, everybody moved on so easily. In fact, it seems life is better now... Because you're gone.

And then you wake up.

That's when you notice that your cuts closed quicker than you can say "James Wolverine Howlett", you swallowed the wrong pills and took multi-vitamins by mistake, and your suicide note had a typo.

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