(no subject)
Yet another bad day.
She walked into her bedroom, slammed the door shut and flung herself down on her bed. Rolling onto her side away from the closed door, she sighed heavily and buried her face into her pillow.
Why did it feel like the world was out to get her? 'For every one thing that goes right, five things go wrong.'
Clink. A pebble pinged against her window.
Clink. Someone was definitely out there.
wearily she rolled off her bed and crawled on her knees toward her window, only pulling herself up to her full height once she reached the sill. It was him. She loved him, she knew that much, but even he didn't make her list of people she wanted to see today.
"What do you want?" She called down after opening the window.
"I need help," he yelled back. "You're smart, you can help me."
'People,' she thought, 'only talk to me when they want something from me. It makes me sick.'
"Well, I don't want to help you." She tried as hard as she could to put just a hint of ice in her voice; she really wanted to skate on it. "Besides, I threw my intelligence out the other window."
"Fine," he muttered, walking away. "I hope you drop dead."
'That makes two of us.'
Wordlessly she closed the window and slid to the floor. Reaching underneath her bed, she retrieved a black box, which she opened to reveal a resplendent revolver that she had stolen from her father. Hands shaking, she examined it and finally loaded it with one bullet.
She paused for a second there, contemplating whether to leave a note or not. 'Better not, notes are too cliched. I don't want to be remembered as the same as everyone else.'
She put down the paper she had grabbed in her pondering, sans tears. Eyes held level straight forward, she placed the barrel of the gun to her temple and pulled the trigger.