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Your breathing's long since slowed. To anyone who might walk in on you, they'd think you dead, your inhales so shallow and few and far between that they might have been non-existent. Your heartbeat's no better, slow and weak, several seconds passing between each. Tibetan monks can supposedly slow teir heart to this point through meditation. It's safe to say that now you have a monk's heart. A heart that's soon to stop.

While you're still alive, you look dead. Your skin is all cold and white and clammy, not so much of a change from normal. You and your brother looked like you could be vampires with skin that white. And not the twilight kind either. No, more the dracula kind. Yes, you surely look dead to anyone who walked in now. But no one's going to be walking in. YOu were always a smart kid, Mikey, and this is no different. You made sure to lock the door before you took your pills.

I'm surprised you chose pills. You always had loved your blade so much more. I'm assuming that the only reason that you chose pills was because it was a more certain way to die. Also, it wasn't going to be too painful to you, unlike your blade. You'd taken several bottles of high blood pressure pills and a half bottle of sleeping pills.

Well, they were more anti depressants than sleeping pills but they had never made you happy. Also, they had the effect of making you sos sleepy and hungry that it was like you were always smoking weed or something. The effects of just one pill would last for days, yet you were force to take one of those things every night. The high blood pressure pills were almost the same. If your blood pressure was high to the point of near fatal, it'd lower it to normal or subnormal. But if your blood pressure was normal, it'd lower it dangerously. So why hasn't your heart stopped yet? It was already so fragile and broken as it was.

Your eyes close now, leaving you with a peaceful view of plain black. At least it'll just be black you see at the end, even if it's not what you wanted to see. It's better than the last thing you see being the hell you call home. Thoughts of how final this is cross your mind slowly and jumbled. You can't even keep a steady train of thought. you try moving, as if to save yourself, but are unable to. Panic begins to set in. YOu want someone to save you, but you're also afraid of what's going to happen if you are saved.

Horrible thinsg have happened to you over much less. YOu know without a doubt that if you survive this, you'll never see the light of day again. As your guardian angel, I was supposed to protect you. I tried, but I couldn't. And here we are.

Your life became too much for you to handle. You poor thing. You lived without much direction, just trying to escape from your horrible life in any way that you could. Yes, you most certainly lived without much direction, just like a bird who's wings have broken. I'd tried to help you and save you, but I just made your life worse for you. So I stopped trying nearly half as often.

In the end, you'd came to me and said you had given up. You said you wanted death. I said if that's what you want, I wouldn't stop you. You gave me a half smile and told me 'Thank You', as though I had given you a cup of coffee and told you good morning, as opposed to telling you to go ahead and kill yourself if you want.

When I showed up here, you were finishing your note,signing off Michael James Way with a flourish and had begun to take the tops off the bottles. You'd sent me such a glare that if looks could kill you'd be the last person alive on this planet. You said that I had lied when I said I wouldn't stop you. I told you I wasn't here to stop you, I was just here because I didn't want you to be alone at the end. You said whatever and continued to take the tops off the bottles. There were so many bottles, most holding only a few pills each, and the tops were those childproof ones with the almost impossible to remove tops. It was certainly a lot of work for you.

Eve with your standoffish manner, I could tell that you were grateful for me to be there. You'd always hated to be alone. I offered to help you take the tops off. "No, this is mine." You spat angrily. I retreated, sitting several feet away from you on the carpet.

Eventually, you finally managed to get all the tops off and you now turned your attention to the drink. You carefully unscrewed the top off the bottle of vodka you put to cool several hours beforehand. Iou took several sips, cringing at the taste. "You know, rum or wine would've been a better choice." I told you. You just glared at me again, and took another swig.

Your throat was doubtlessly on fire, but you ignored it and started gulping down the pills by the handful, washing them down with the bitter liquid. Soon enough, you were surrounded by empty plastic bottles with the empty glass bottle in your hand. You were sitting in front of me. We started at each other for quite a while, unwilling to break the silence, until you fell over flat onto your back, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

That was nearly an hour ago.

I move closer to you and take your hand. you squeeze it weakly. A tear slides out of your eye. I wipe it away and tell you to just close your eyes and relax, it'll all be over soon. you close your eyes, and as yoy do, your breathing slows even further. In a few minutes, it stops entirely. I try looking for a pulse, but find none. You are dead, Mikey, dead before your 18th birthday. I feel the tears beginning. I take off your glasses, and arrange your hands into a more peaceful position. If I hadn't been there for the past 2 hours plus, I would've thought you were sleeping. Your face was void of all the pain that haunted you through your life.

I was supposed to help you, but I just made everything worse. At least I made sure you didn't die alone. If I leave now, I should be able to catch up to you on the otherside.