A Pitiful End

My bedroom was a mess.

The sheets were in disarray, chip bags and candy wrappers laid scattered across the floor. Anyone who dared step foot in my domain always had a face scrunched up in shock and horror.

How could anyone live like this?

This room was fit for a pig!

I would always roll my eyes. I didn't see the problem, I had been living like this for so long that it became the new normal for me. How was I supposed to know that it would be the thing to do me in!

The night I died was like any other. I had been seated at my desk for what felt like hours, browsing around YouTube like the zombie I was. It was an escape for me, college had drained whatever energy I had left and at that point I just needed to recuperate.

Suddenly a knock rang out from my door. One of my roommates was nagging at me, yelling for me to turn the volume down. It was always him, always bringing down whatever joy I had. I could never have any fun around him. A jolt of anger hit me hard and I sprang up from my seat to give that jerk a piece of my mind when I tripped. My bare feet slipped on a large empty bag of sour cream and onion potato chips, sending my body sprawling to the ground.

Everything went into slow motion as I stretched out my hands to catch myself, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a glint of metal-- a pen.

It was a steel pen, one of my most treasured gifts from my father when he returned back from a trip to Europe. It must have fell to the floor after I knocked it over some time ago. My eyes followed it as it bounced up from where my feet had slipped, flipping straight up with the fine point out, centered out for me.

Oh no.

Gravity shoved me forward and I crashed hard to the ground, chip bags fluttering up from the sheer force of my fall. I could hear my roommate's worried calls and as I got up to answer I found that I couldn't breathe, every breath was pain. I brought my hand to my throat, gasping when I nudged against hard metal.

The pen. OhGodTHEPEN!

My neck hurt, everything hurt, all I could think of was to get that thing out of me. But each time I tried more blood flowed, and my gurgling sped up. Tears weld up in my eyes as I stared into the ceiling. This was stupid, I was stupid, I couldn't believe that this was happening.

My worthless life flashed before my eyes, filled with disappointing looks from friends and family. I let them down, I let everyone down.

...I guess this death was what I deserved.

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On October 23rd, 2019 Conner Smith was found dead in his bedroom. He was twenty-one years old.