Everyone always says that time heals all wounds. Frankly, I think those people are idiots. They obviously haven't ever lost someone. It can be quick and painless at first, like ripping off a band-aid. Or it can be long and grueling, slowly turning you mad at watching the ones you love suffer.
            Time doesn't heal all wounds, only death can. If you're dead you can't feel any pain or sadness. All you feel is the empty black void of nothingness. How can time heal the wound of abandonment, of heartbreak, of loss. How can time heal the wound of loneliness. It can't. The only way to escape pain is to escape life. That's what I'm going to do.

Dear everyone,
    Goodbye, forever.  But. I wish to thank some people though before I go. Thank you inventors, for coming up with the gun. Thank you father for not caring what I do. Thank you store clerk who could care less what age I am and whether I have proper credentials to buy a gun. Thank you tormentors for giving me an excuse to say my goodbyes, even though you were only half the problem.
       As I write this I stare at my white bedroom walls. They mock me as blank canvases ready to be painted with my blood. No smiling pictures grace them to give me any reason not to paint. No friends no family wish me to live. I have nothing, I fear nothing. Not anymore. I only wish to say goodbye. I do not blame you, it's just what I have decided for myself. I shall be seeing my mother soon, hopefully. Even though heaven is no place for someone who decides when they should die. Goodbye everyone.
       Sincerely, a girl who is dead and gone.

        I place the revolver in my mouth. In three quick seconds my life will end. One. My hand shakes. Two. I begin to squeeze the trigger. Three. Bang. The gun goes off. Just like a band-aid. Quick and painless, I ripped my life away from myself.
       I opened my eyes to a glistening white heaven. Lights shined all around me and the scent of flowers wafted about.
" someone call the doctor! She's awake!" I looked to my left. Sitting on his knees next to my bedside, holding my hand was my father.
" papa." I tried to say but my mouth was heavy. I felt the scratch of gauze and what I believed to be stitches.
" shh, shh ,shh. Don't try and talk sweetie, the just finished patching you up yesterday. I just, I just," I saw tea come to my father's  eyes, " I just can't believe my little girl would think I didn't care about her! You're all I have left of my family, I love you sweetie. You'll always be my little girl, you'll always be n my heart. And don't you ever forget that!" he laid his head on my bedside and I reached up to stoke his hair.
        I saw tears stain the sheets beneath him and I felt my own coming on as well. I realized something then. It may have been quick and painless for me, but the wound would go much deeper for those who cared about me. Much, much deeper.