Title: One More Start Over

Rating: PG-13

Warning: death/suicide, depression, Michigan weather.

Stephanie stuttered to a stop, staring vaguely at the temporary vending machine ring on her left ring finger. Her fist was clenched in the bed sheets and the plastic band strained against the pressure.

A larger hand reached over her shoulder from behind and soothed the fist into relaxing. "It wasn't your fault." the deep, throaty voice whispered, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Yes it is," Stephanie argued, burying her face in the un-cased pillow.

"No, it's not." her companion said with finality. He nipped her ear in rebuttal and Stephanie reluctantly smiled into her pillow.

"What did I marry a stubborn jackass like you for anyway?" she teased, rolling onto her side to smack him on the shoulder. He grinned and shrugged.

"Because you were under the impression that I had more than that quarter I used to buy your ring with?"

"That must've been it."

He propped himself up on his elbow. "What happened after that?" Stephanie's smile melted back into a bland expression and she rolled away from him.


"I squeezed through the crack as far as I could, reaching for the switch that controlled the fan. The rotating planks groaned at the excess weight suspended from them, threatening to snap at any given moment. My hand grasped at the wall, searching for the switch that would make him stop reminding me with every pass.

"'Help!' I screamed occasionally, still groping for the switch. "Help me! Please, call an ambulance!"

"Drew's eyes stared at the ceiling above his rotating corpse, blindly gazing into the world beyond with hope for something better. His body fought to fall, however, to the floor and into purgatory where the devils minions awaited him.


"I never did manage to flip the switch so I'll probably never be able to replace the image of him swinging from the ceiling fan like that. The man in the next apartment over eventually came home and called the paramedic's from his room while I sobbed on his faded green sofa.

'We're very sorry,' the female paramedic told me, her bland expression relaying none of the sympathy she claimed. 'There's nothing we can do.'

"They loaded him into the ambulance, cloaked in a white sheet, and drove him to the hospital. The sirens were silent, the ambulance slow.

There was no rush for Drew."

Authors Note: Sorry for the abrupt change in POV...I was going for something, and then I don't think it quite worked out the way I intended. Oh well, I got a 95 on this project anyway. (I don't have any idea why my Creative Writing teacher likes me...I'm such a pain in the ass in her class ; Poor Ms. Holm)

Tell me what you think! One of my earliest Creative Writing assignments, but feel free to be brutal.