The world went black, and then I woke up. I was back in the house as if I had never left. I saw my wife rushing down the hallway, desperate to know if the gunshot she heard was just a dream. She creaked the door open and heard me gargling on the blood filling my mouth. She stumbled back, her face pale as she dialed for our oldest daughter. I wanted to comfort her, to reach out, but I couldn’t catch her attention. I could no longer feel her touch or her warmth. I could feel nothing. The room was cold; I was cold. She was just light now, glowing in the darkness I had created.

My granddaughter had left just an hour before I chose to die. The last thing I said to her was, “See you next time.” I didn’t even realize yet that there wouldn’t be one.

What happened was… after she left, I sat outside for a while. My mind was drifting off and becoming unclear. I got up and walked through the front door, seeing my wife on the couch, lost in her 30-inch iPad. I didn’t say a word as I continued down the hallway to our bedroom. I opened the drawer, and there it was—the last object I ever saw, my dad’s old gun. I lay in the bed, covering myself up to my waist, as if I were ready to sleep for the night. Suddenly, the gun was to my head. Then it happened. I was gone. The world went black, and then I woke up—except it wasn’t normal. I saw my own body on the bed.

My granddaughter was back home when she got the news of what I had done. I watched her open the text. She just stopped, her face blank. She didn’t say a word. She initially believed that her mom was playing a prank with the text. She thought, “Why would someone make a prank that horrifying?” “How could this actually have happened?” and “This can’t be real.” She was overcome with pure disbelief for days. She walked into the living room and told her dad that I had killed myself, then drove to the gym, as if it had no effect on her.

I followed her, feeling helpless. She met her boyfriend in the parking lot and told him. She cried, only for a second, then went inside. She didn’t even look like she cared. In the gym, she broke down several times, sitting on the floor with her head down; she was lost. Her boyfriend noticed her and tapped his foot against hers to bring her back to reality, but she just fell back into a hole of terrifying thoughts and nothingness. He grabbed her hands as she dug her nails into her skin to feel something. I felt a regret wash over me. Should I have done this? Was it a good choice?

She walked out of the gym. Right before she reached her boyfriend’s truck, she fell to the cement, the bloody scratches from her nails now covered in dirt. She screamed as loud as she could. Her boyfriend dropped to the ground in an attempt to help her get up. She could only scream. He picked her up and carried her limp, quivering body to the truck. She bawled. After that, she couldn’t sleep for days, haunted by the sight I left. She was scared to close her eyes, thinking if she did, I would appear in the room just like I had left—cold, lifeless, and covered in blood. I never meant to scare her. She never came back to the house. I reside there now, and she doesn’t want the image of me to resurface after seeing the room I left in.

My choice had left a shadow over the lives of those I loved. I could never take it back.

(I wrote this from his perspective of different people, not just me as the granddaughter. I didnt know how to only focus the story on me.) (Pls give feedback bc I would like to edit and make this story a lot better.)

My grandfather shockingly discovered his cold, lifeless body downstairs on the couch, next to the various packages of pills and syringes. I remember my dad making me sit on the chair in the quiet, sunlit living room. He whispered to me in a concerned voice, “Josh is dead.” Did I care at all? No. I was 11 years old at the time, and three years later his loss had finally hit me. I had not a single thought about Josh since I’d seen him last. I descended the steep, creaky, wooden stairs leading me to the basement. I was going downstairs to listen to music on the TV. I sat in the same place where Josh’s cold body had been lying dead for hours, three years before. I put the TV on Spotify and clicked play on my favorite playlist. After one single song, my body had been struck by the weight of a semi-truck. The room went cold. I felt my life strip away from my body. I was then drowned in the memories I had with him. After three years I thought of him, the compassionate person he used to be. I thought for a while of all the times I had been near him. I stumbled my way down the hallway, to his room, dragging my fingers across the walls, blinded by teary eyes. I saw the place he used to live. I pictured him there, still there…but there was no movement; he wasn't there, and he would never be there again; he would never be anywhere again. I picked up his camo Bible and tried to read some of the notes left written on the crinkled pages. His scratchy written words sat on the bent pages; they were begging for God's help. Josh just wanted the strength to finally get clean. He wanted a better life for himself. It hit me harder because he was never able to have that. I never touched his Bible again; I left it there with new tear-stained pages. I remember the scary times, Josh shrieking and shouting certain words through the hallway, and the intensity of the slamming doors sometimes horrified me. I remember specifically the time my Nana told him that the cops called. When he received that information, I witnessed the entire house shake as if it had just flipped over. He often left me confused about who he was. In my little kid mind, in those scary moments, I saw him as someone who didn't belong here. I remember the time Josh killed my new kitten. I was going on a long car trip that day; Josh didn't want me getting hurt, so he trimmed the cat's nails…a little too far down. My kitten bled to death in my lap. I remember me almost hyperventilating and practically exploding into tears next to my mom who had my dead cat in her arms. I remember Josh coming to try to help with the cat because he felt so incredibly bad about what he had just done to his 9-year-old little cousin and the cat. With tears streaming from my face into a small puddle on the floor, I screamed at Josh to go away. My mom tried to explain to my tiny mind that Josh was just trying to help me; I started to understand. I went from a moment of hating Josh and never wanting to see him again to feeling sorry for him. I remember sliding crayon-filled, scribbly notes under his door telling him “I hate you” because he wouldn't feed my snake. I don't think I have ever regretted anything more than those notes and yelling at him about my cat... I know now that those notes most likely meant nothing to him and he probably got over the traumatic cat death quickly, but that doesn't make me stop regretting it. Not all of my thoughts about him were bad. I loved him, which is why I now have a gaping hole in my heart. He left me, without a warning, without a word. Not everything he did was as traumatic as the event I mentioned. My favorite memory of him was the time he made a bonfire outside. Josh had a pet snake. His snake's name was Snakie and he handed her to me. I held Snakie as Josh picked up a Febreze can and asked if he could show me something cool. He then sprayed the flames from the fire, creating a makeshift blowtorch. My face lit up, both with happiness and warmth from the flames. After Josh's moment of immaturity, he turned, looked at me and said quietly, “I hope you know that Snakie loves you.” At the time, I didn't catch the hint, which made sense because I wasn't even ten years old yet. The day his death hit me, I rethought that simple moment, and I finally knew that he wasn't talking about Snakie; Josh had just told me that he loved me. The next thing I heard about him was that his body had been discovered dead on the couch downstairs, his cold, lifeless body. The way I processed his death was shocking; I didn't care at all for the longest time. I was 14 when the hurt finally burst and spilled out all over me. I had a lot of things happen to me in my life that led me to the place I am in now. One of the biggest things that led me to me is this story. A month ago I was sitting in the empty, back room of my therapy building being told that something is wrong with me. I figured out I have manic depression. I have always had issues with my mental health. I know that losing Josh made everything more intense. Josh’s death dragged out the worst in me, and it will now affect me forever. He ripped a wound in my soul. I will never be able to repair it.

He looks like 2:45-3:12 in All I Need by Radiohead.

“I can’t do this anymore, I’m done” he said before silently exiting the phone call.

The world crumbled around me as I found myself caught in an endless storm of emotions. The weight of his words echoed through me without mercy. His words completely shattered the illusion of trust and security I had built around our relationship. There was no longer strength within me. Sadness and despair consumed my weak body entirely. As I collapsed onto the brick steps, I felt my tears stinging. I knew this painful moment marked the beginning of a downfall I would never recover from. With trembling hands and a shattered heart, I rushed inside through the back door. There they were… my whole family staring silently at me. As my Nana ran toward my aching body, I could only utter two words through my quivering voice, “he’s gone”.

My body fell straight to the dirty kitchen floor. Despite my Nana’s efforts, I felt no comfort. I was now on my way down a descending path to nothingness. I had just lost everything. There was no light to guide me, and no hope to cling to. There was only a damaging weight of loneliness. No pain I had ever felt could compete with the hurt that now drowned me.

I drowned myself for weeks, I knew the pain would never leave me. I lost my meaning, I lost my purpose. All I had left were the empty and broken promises that only deepened my pain. I suffered for weeks even after he came back and told me he loved me. I suffered for months even after he came back and said he had regrets. Somehow, through all of my doubts, I knew that his slightly saddening words were true…

My alarm immediately woke me, as it does every morning. I turned it off when I shockingly heard my parents rush toward my room. They opened the door and gazed directly at me. They looked as if they were dazed and hadn't slept in years. Their faces were pale and tight as if they had just climbed out of a cold stream of water. They were trembling. They never even uttered a word before they left my room. My parents never say anything to me anymore. I feel as if our relationship is falling apart. I put the experience behind me and went to get breakfast, I always wondered why my spot at the table was no longer filled with a plate of food. They only care for themselves now. I was no longer hungry. I started out the door, I wanted to walk on the hiking trails near my house that day. Being away from everyone and everything somehow makes me feel less isolated. I decided to take a trail I had never been down before. Exactly three minutes later, I was lost. I have never been lost before. I frantically started looking around, there was no path, and the leaves on the ground were untouched. I was no longer able to hold in my emotions. I paced without thought which led me deeper into the woods. I finally stopped and caught my breath, I looked up and saw what I had lost complete memory of. It was our bench, it was still there. I dropped to the ground as memories flooded my body. I fell limp, I brought my legs to my chest as my teary eyes gazed at the rotting wood. I couldn't stop thinking. It was our old spot… the spot that belonged to my best friend and me. We lost our friendship a while ago, she acted like I didn't exist when I was around. Everyone I ever knew now just ignored my presence. I gained the strength to stumble my way to the old, decreped, oak bench. As I walked closer, I spotted a small metal container resting on the seat. I cautiously picked it up, my name was carved into the lid. My mouth dropped as I opened the box, there was a bracelet and a note. I immediately recognized the pink weived bracelet… it was our friendship bracelet, the one that belonged to my best friend. My heart tore as I picked up the note which looked to be a scrap of newspaper. The scrap was faded but I could work out only the title, “Katie Carter Abducted And Killed.” I fell to the dirt below me as I mumbled, “That’s me, I am Katie Carter.”