Written by Ari a cute transgirl :3
Late at night, I sit down and light a cigarette.
I open the book and start writing about my day, about how my life is slowly falling apart. Then I look back at the wall and see nice pictures, nice memories of my friends, of the people I truly valued the most.
It’s nice looking at them, but then I start coughing from the smoke. I can feel it slowly settling in my lungs. I’m scared, but still calm. At least this will calm me down.
Then I stand up, go to my bed, and start crying. Suddenly, a lot of good memories come to my mind, and I cry even harder, reaching for the knife on my desk.
For a moment, all I can think about is ending it, but then I remind myself this is not who I am. I’m not gonna end up like this.
So I throw the knife at the wall, hitting one of the pictures of my friend.
I notice a vodka bottle on my nightstand. I pick it up and start drinking, coughing in the process, some blood hitting the ground.
Suddenly, I need to pee. I go to the bathroom, but then I notice my legs. There are scars there, reminders of the people I hurt. Who knows, maybe their lives would have been better without me. Maybe I hurt them even more. Should I just end it now, or should I seek help?
But who’s even gonna help me without putting me into some mental psych yard?
I finish and then I go to sleep.
When I wake up in the morning, I go out on the balcony and see so many happy kids. Then they look toward my window, and I quickly go back inside, close the curtains, and pull my knife out of the wall, putting it in my pocket.
I grab clothes soaked in piss, wash them, and don’t even let them dry.
I go outside, and people see me and just move away from me. Yeah, I guess I am a weirdo. If that’s how people see me, maybe I should just jump onto the train tracks. Who knows.
Then I see another person sitting on a bench with a knife in their hand. I quickly walk over, pat their back, and ask, “Hey, can I sit next to you?”
“Yeah, sure,” they say. “But I’m not gonna live long anyway since my family kicked me out for being gay.”
I hug them and say, “Well, you know, I know how you feel. I left because I was a burden to everyone. My friends left me. I guess I really fucked up. Maybe my friends would be better without knowing me. So yeah, I tried to end it yesterday, but instead I threw the knife at the wall, drank half a bottle of vodka, got sick, and went to sleep.”
“After I woke up, I went to the balcony and saw kids happy outside. Then they slowly turned toward my window, so I quickly went back inside, closed the curtains, and went out. And now here I am.”
“I saw you holding that knife, and it must be hard, being in that state and knowing that nobody is gonna help you. But if you want, I can offer you some comfort. I can be here for you. I have nobody anyway.”
The person smiles and starts crying. “Nobody even helped me. People just laughed. You are the only one that actually cares. I don’t have a house or apartment. I would just be in the way.”
I smile and say, “No, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Come with me. I’ll buy you fresh clothes, and we can stay together. Let’s try to be more than friends. I have nobody,” and then I whisper, “I’m gay too,” “so if you want, you can stay with me for as long as you want.”
They smile, hug me tightly, and say, “T-th-thank you. You really mean it?”
I smile back. “Yes, of course I mean it, silly. Now let’s go.”
We go back to my apartment. “It’s not the best,” I say, “but we can improve it together. We’ll find a job together. I’m a story writer.”
“Actually, this is a story I’m writing right now. So if you are reading this, that means you decided to spend your time actually reading it.”
The person looks at me and says, “Oh wait, can I see the stories?”
I show them the stories, and they say, “Oh wow, those are really nice and very sad. Was your life really that bad?”
“Y-yeah, it was,” I say. “I cry every day. I’m trying to be a better person, but I always end up hurting others. But I can promise you that I will not hurt you.”
“If you feel sad, please tell me. You can vent to me about your emotions. I will comfort you, maybe offer you a hug, or maybe we can make some money and buy a better television. This one is kinda old, hehe.”
They smile and say, “Wait, I have an idea. What if we write a story together, like this one that you are reading right now, yes, you, READER?”
I smile. “Then let’s start working on the story now. Let’s hope our life will be better. Anyway, we should go sleep.”
I nod and then ask quietly, “Uh, can we sleep together? I only have a double bed.”
They smile and say, “I’d be more than happy to sleep with you. Can we snuggle together?”
“Yeah,” they say softly, “I would absolutely love that...”
