Dedicated to "Adam." A name I use after a fictionous suicide letter, impacting me so hard that I wrote this story. The name "Adam." refers to every person who suffered like this.


The summer night was blank, small unblinking lights lying still along with his breathing. These lights were the stars of course, but they bled with a dull, painful rememberance of what they had witnessed. And they watched with anger as the silence still held it's dark peace. Only thirty minutes later when the car pulled into the rocky drive way did they see their only son laying face down, his face looking at his left right at the car. His eyes were blank, and a particular jagged rock was cutting his jawline. His hand was curled around the gun, which had fallen out of his grip as soon as his fingers hit the trigger. And soon the stars were finally satisfied, the ear splitting scream of the mother cracking the air like a gunshot. " How ironic.", the stars thought calmly, "Whenever the real gunshot hit the air, no one had been around to hear, or stop it." His name was James, James Ackrey. And this was his story.

James was an abnormal boy in other peoples eyes. Because of the terrifying days at middle school, the anti social of his personality was the only thing people knew about him. No one knew that he was brilliant, that he had the words of a poet and a heart of riddles. His voice that was rarely heard would have the deepness of the soul, almost everything a girl wanted to fall asleep to. No one would have known that he had played the guitar, humming softly. No one had given him a chance, and no one had bothered to see him more then the stranger everyone thought he was. His physical and verbally abusive peers would cause him into a deeper, more stirring disturbance in his life, his will to live being ripped into more pieces as the hours had even slowly passed. He would rarely talk, even when he was directly questioned. And there would only be one girl in his life that would ever effect him with deep passion, a girl who had once gave him life and light when the seams really began to unstitch themselves quickly.

"Anna." She said gently, her voice soft like a violins melody. "Anna Codwell." She was new, no doubt. And her first words were "Why are you so quiet?" and that's when it happened. He looked at her, his auburn eyes staring into hers and letting her see a glimpse of what he felt. "I know." He said softly, his voice deep and sensitive, not giving her a definite answer. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, her brilliant green eyes peircing his and her sleek, jet black hair laying flat against her shoulders. She was half his size, almost. Having to stare up at him from his 5.8 stance, and seeing his dirty blonde hair as his bangs came down to his eyebrows. In a way, she had seen what his mystery was, and after those few days she was his only friend, his only ears, and they would be inseperable over the years to come. She fell in love with him almost immiedetly, and even though he would never admit it, he had fell in love with her too. Almost two years later, when courage never came to spill their feelings, the only time he would ever be able to tell her was her funeral, where he wasn't afraid to cry in front of her family, in front of her casket, and in front of the marble stone, engravings the only thing to keep in contact with him until he had only a few hours left to live.

Sometimes the riddles are best left unsolved, and no one really knew how she died one morning, only to be found dead on the floor. Hospitals said there was no possible suicide, and sadly James never dug deep enough to find out what had happened. All he knew was that he was to late to be happy, and the words at the places he went where people knew him began to spit the words like venom at him. It poisoned him, sickened him until he laid awake at night and pictured his own suicide. And finally, after enough torturing and abuse he couldn't take it anymore, grabbed the nearest hand gun, going outside and looking up. "Anna.", He whispered softly, "Im so sorry."