CW: They all died. I survived.

“You are the only survivor of a suicide pact. Tell your story.”
– a prompt for this week’s CW piece.
[Source: @DailyPrompt on Twitter]

“Jen, Katie, Rob, Mike and I lived on the same block ever since we were little kids. Went to school together. Played on the streets together. You could never see one of us without the other four. We were inseparable. Our parents were blue collar workers, who, between their jobs, putting the food on the table and sleeping, did not have much time for us. We had to take care of ourselves. I always felt like an older brother of the bunch.

However, as we became teenagers and grew older, I realized that we were not all the same. They wanted to smoke and drink and experiment with drugs, but I did not want any of that. They started looking down on me. Made fun of my love for reading and writing. Called me a nerd. Told me I was going to be alone forever.

After all I have done for them.

I was always there to lend a helping hand. To help with homework. To help cheat on a test.

Now I was the one who needed help. I was depressed. My parents were getting divorced, I needed glasses, and the acne on my face was not attracting any girls. They were all I had. So I made an effort to become one with them again. We smoke and we drank. In my basement. My father was never around anymore. Mom said he moved in with some bimbo. Mother had to work day and night, so she was never home, either. We had total privacy. As our hormones raged, our social lives crumbled. We were failing multiple classes at school. We were tired of life. We needed to do something, so we made a pact. It was Halloween. If things were not going to change, and we were still miserable by Spring Break, we were going to commit suicide.

Months have passed and Spring Break could not come soon enough. We fantasized about the ways we would go about killing ourselves. Katie’s older sister had some pills we could use, but we were not sure if there would be enough for all of us. Mike thought of jumping off a bridge, but our little town did not have a tall enough one. Razor blades were the answer. Jen’s father was a barber and he had plenty lying around in the house.

They were scared they would not know how to cut. How to make sure that it was a done deal. That there was no chance of coming back. So, per usual, I offered to help. I have researched it, after all. I helped them one by one.

Four dead. Only one survivor.

That was just my first attempt.

There have been many more since.

Always only one survivor.

Me.

If you are interested in becoming a spiritual leader and ridding this world of scum, then make sure to pick up a copy of my latest book entitled: “Saving the world; one suicide at a time.” You will receive a 10% rebate if you buy it today. You cannot leave without it!”

The seminar was over, and Josiah headed towards the door where he would sell his book, and meet new recruits for his pact. He always knew just how to lead the sheep to slaughter.

***

P.S. As always, you are more than welcome to use this prompt to inspire your post. If you decide to write something, be sure to pingback to this post, so that I can get an alert and check out your post. (A post on how to do pingbacks can be found here.) If pingbacks are not your thing, feel free to simply leave a link to your piece in the comment section below. The more, the merrier!

Stay golden,

Signature.

***

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***

Disclaimer: The picture used for this post is not my property. Source: here.

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The Memory Cellar

A collection of short stories, flash (non) fiction, poems and memories.

Walk the Goats

So many inner-voices show up to address the mundane and the life-changing; and they don't always agree.

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