The Day I Died

by E.B. Black

Sometimes living is harder than dying, but that doesn't mean that being alive isn't worth it.

I could hear the clock ticking in my head, but I didn’t know what happened at the end of its countdown.

“It’s just too bad that your mother found you on the floor in time. Her life really would be better without you in it.”

“Because you worried me so much and decided to possibly change my life forever by killing yourself.

“Then talk to me about it,” Samantha said. “Don’t try to kill yourself!” “But I’m so tired,” I said. “It’s like there’s less color in everything. The sky is darker. The world is dimmer. Things that used to be fun, like singing, just make me tired now. I’ve been trying so hard for so long now that I deserve to rest. It’s selfish for you to ask me to withstand it when I can barely get out of bed most days.” “But I’ll help you with it,” Samantha said. “We can do it together. I need you to at least try. Things will get better if you hold on.”

Maybe people just like to blame others for someone’s death because it makes it easier to deal with when they can be mad at someone.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, brushing the tears from my eyes. “Did he hit you other times?” “Not exactly,” I admitted. “But he was always threatening me.” It dawned on me suddenly that he’d only done this when my mom wasn’t in the room. This whole time I thought she was supporting him, but she didn’t even know what he had been doing.

“I thought you knew and I was scared you wouldn’t sympathize with me. You were always taking his side.”