Mirrors

A time comes in your life when you finally get it. In the midst of all your emotions, a sense of fear and dread surface. You begin to question yourself, your life, and your existence.

You ask yourself in front of your mirror "Who am I?", You just stand there for a moment as if you're waiting for a reply. That's your face looking back at you, but it's different. It's changed somehow. You don't understand what's happening. But you know something is different; something is wrong.

You begin to question what your purpose is in this world. Will you just be another drifter? or will you be one of the men and women who leave their mark in the pages of history?

And suddenly, your focus drifts to the bloody knife in your left hand. "whose blood is that?" you think to yourself. "Why am I holding it?", "Where did it come from?", "Why can't I remember?"

After those thoughts swirl in your mind for a few moments, you decide to walk up to your parents bathroom, open the medicine cabinet, and take that bottle of Vicodin your stepmom has been hiding. You pour yourself a glass of water, and empty the bottle in your hand.

Tears trickle down your face. You blink back those tears, and through a veil of wet lashes you look at yourself in the mirror one last time.

The truth of what you had done begins to sink in. You fight back those tears and take the pills.

You walk downstairs to the living room and sit down on the couch between the lifeless bodies of your three young siblings. You feel a little dozy and tired. You close your eyes and fall into a deep and extremely comfortable sleep. But before you do so, you whisper to yourself "They'll never know why? but I'll forever know God."