The Anniversairy

The young girl sits in the silent cold dark room.  She just wants to get away from everything that is happening around her.  As she lays on her bed she whispers to herself, "Everything is gonna be OK I'll wake up soon, and this will all be a dream."   The harsh reality is, its not.  Her alcoholic father left, and her mother overdosed on sleeping pills.  "If only he hadn't left, if only he wasn't so abusive, if only he put his family first if only...if only..." This is what's running through her mind right now.  She does not want to believe what has truly happened.  Her crystal clear blue eyes shut tightly, trying to put the image of the police and paramedics out of her sight.  A tear slowly drops for her eye.  Then another and another, until she is crying hysterically.  Trying to drown out the image of her dead mother lying on the couch stiff.  

She wished she wasn't the one who found her, lying there with death surrounding every corner of the room.  Perhaps it wasn't her father's fault.  She can still remember the last time she saw her mother alive.  It was in the kitchen of their two bedroom apartment.  They were fighting as usual, but the last thing she had said to her mother was, "I hate you." Was this really what had set her mother off the deep end? "It's all my fault!" the girl screamed out loud to herself.  She knows deep down inside she's not not responsible, but she can't help but blame herself.  She wished she could see her mother again so she could set things right, but the truth is it will never happen.

The thought of how her mother must of felt when those words of hatred were spoken bring too much guilt for her to handle.  Slowly and stumbling a little, she walked into her parent's old room.  She stops hat her dad's night stand.  She opens the drawer.  A shiny tear rolls down her flushed cheek.  Her father's handgun is sitting there, starring back at her.  The girl mumbles to herself, "You were right for once Dad, a gun would come in handy one day."  Her small pale hand encloses around the barrel.  She holds it up to her head unsteadily.  Her index finger moves to the trigger.  "I'm so sorry Mom, I don't hate you.  I love you." She whispers this silently to herself.  Then with one last breath she pulls the trigger, drowning out the painful memories forever.

A policeman runs into the room to find the girl.  The paramedics are called.  They take her pulse.  She is pronounced dead at midnight on her parent's anniversary.