I cringe at the cold, metallic taste of the barrel in my mouth. Maybe another way would be better? No, no. This is surefire, and it's fast. It'll be over in an instant. Just pull the trigger and it will all go away. You can go away. You can stop it all. Just squeeze.
I look around the room, one last time. I'd cleaned up my normally messy bedroom, not wanting to leave a mess behind me. Well, other than the blood; the blood was unfortunate and unavoidable. There are my books, neatly packed onto their shelf. All of the spines face me, all different colors and sizes. I'd always loved books. Next to the bookshelf, my dresser. All of my clothes are neatly organized, ready to be put in a box and donated wherever. Someone else would hopefully put them to good use. My closet door is closed, but I know it holds the pink dollhouse my mother wouldn't let me throw away, even after I'd stopped playing with dolls. She'd said I could give it to my own daughter one day; that could be donated, too.
I glance out the window. It's raining, and it makes me feel cliché. I hadn't chosen to do it because the weather sucked. It just happened to fall that way. Which is ridiculous, really, I know. So, that's it, then? Best to get it over with before someone came home.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. A wave of gut-wrenching pain tore through me, but it was over very quickly. Then there was nothing, I felt nothing at all. No fire poking at my feet, torturing me for eternity, no clouds or angels, no warmth of God. So that's that, then.
So I open my eyes, and still see my quiet little bedroom. My mouth was still open, but the gun had dropped. I stood up from the bed and look over my shoulder; my body lay still, unbreathing. Slumped back against the wall, the back of my head shot off. Blood soaking my pink, flowery sheets. It flows down the wall. I'd done it to myself, but it was horrifying.
Experimenting, I test the doorknob. It turns in my hand. Was I a ghost? Were ghosts supposed to be able to open doors? Either way, I walk over to the closet, finding some old towels. I take them back to my room and sop up some of the blood. What was I supposed to do?
I can hear my mother coming in. The sound of her keys in the door. Her voice. "Baby, are you hungry?" Oh God, what was I going to do? What had I done to her? "I thought we might head over to Grandma's, if you haven't ate yet. We really should go over there more often."
She hesitates, waiting for me to answer. I summon whatever courage I have, and walk out into the living room. She's putting her coat up in the closet, dropping her heavy black leather purse. She turns around and smiles at me. "There you are, sweetie. Have you eaten anything?"
Why could she see me? Could she tell I was a ghost? "Mama?" I try my voice, and it sounds like me. "No, I didn't eat Mama."
She can tell somethings off, knows I'm not quite right. She'd known that for months, though. "What's the matter, you're acting strange."
Do ghosts cry? "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done it." I manage to say. "I'm so, so sorry."
Now she looks afraid. "What did you do, honey? It can't be so bad. Tell me what you did and I'll help you." She's staring at me, imagining that there's some logical problem, one she could help me with. I'd gotten pregnant, I had a drug problem, I'd gotten expelled from school. I turn away, pushing the door to my room open. She steps in after me, and she looks ill. She rushes to my body, and she's crying. She cradles me, holding my shattered skull, as if she could fuse it back together and my life would flow back into me. And she's crying and she's covered in my blood, already drying. "Baby, why did you do this, why? It couldn't have been so bad as this, you had me."
"Mama, Mama, I'm so sorry!" I repeat, but she can't hear me. She looks right through me. I reach for her, but my hand slides right through her. All I cold see was the horror on her face, hear her cries.
And then I faded away to nothingness, leaving her shattered life in my wake.