Sorry for the Damage(Geraldine Vesper) Is suicide wrong? It is the only way to end pain completely. These thoughts swirled through my mind as I stared into the frightening face of the hand-gun I clutched desperately in my quaking hands. I was perched on the edge of my bed. I caressed the rainbow splattered covers that had shielded me from many thunder storms, measles, and heart break. I glanced at my frazzled room. My laptop was on low battery on my desk where a book report lay half-finished with barely legible scrawls scribbled on crumpled notebook paper. A whole warehouse of school supplies clogged a broken pencil box. A flurry of used blouses, new skirts, and worn-out sneakers were strewn on a shaggy brownish-pink carpet. My laptop screen blinked. One new message, it read. Frustrated tears snaked down my cheek. Leave me alone, I wanted so desperately to pound onto the keyboard. But it was too late. Nothing could save me from…me.

I wasn’t always this confused. I was an A-B student. I did an okay job on my softball team. I admit, my looks were never high-standard. My wardrobe wasn’t overflowing with low-rise jeans or plunging V-necks. Bleached jeans and a plain T-shirt was more my speed. Hair gel, hairspray, lip gloss, and light blush were the only articles of make-up and/or hair products that I needed. Nobody really mentioned my looks until I became a sophomore in high school. Verona Williams, a sixteen year-old dictator, stalked the halls with her plastic surgery addicted friends. But her real partner in crime was her power on social networks. Twitter, MySpace, and Facebook were all invaded with her tyranny. Every week she would raffle out a new victim. She could crush them with gossip, lies, and the plain, hurtful truth. I knew that eventually I would become one of her victims. I just didn’t expect her to be so brutal. Olivia got knocked up when she was fourteen and had an abortion without telling her parents. Olivia made out with Flora Highland’s boyfriend under the bleachers. Olivia flunked the eighth grade and seduced the principal into increasing her grades. Teachers, peers, and parents contacted me after having a peek at her deceitful lies. They tried to report me, send me to therapy, or just mock or abuse me. Guys at school tried to “score” with me because I was so “easy.” Teachers would repeatedly try to get help for me. My so called friends refused to speak to me. And all the while Verona kept urging me to do the thing that I thought was the most horrible thing in the world. The only way to end this torment is to kill yourself. And I believed her.

I stared at the gun in my hand. What should I do, now? Just pull the trigger and get it over with? This is the only way, I told myself. I could feel the self-doubt raging inside me. Don’t do it Olivia, a tiny voice seemed to say. But I had to. This was the only way. I grasped my hand firmly on the gun. My index finger paused before the trigger. One, two, three. My finger pressed the trigger. A deafening boom echoed in my silent room. A searing pain throbbed in my shoulder. I could feel the bullet tearing through my shoulder. Rusty red stains began seeping through my gray shirt. I crumpled onto the floor. This will all be over soon. My cell phone buzzed. One new text message from Lissa. Lissa had been my former best friend. She now went to the prep school down the road. We haven’t spoken to each other in months. I pressed the button for the last time. My eyes moistened as I read the message. Olivia, I heard about Verona. Do not listen to her. I know you’re better than that. Love, Lissa. At that single moment, I didn’t want to die. I wanted to run to Lissa’s house and crawl under the covers of her canopy bed like when we were kids. I wanted to cry over the littlest things with her. The throbbing in my shoulders began to subside. My eyelids began to feel heavy. I could feel my heartbeat weaken. But it was too late. Sorry, brain, for the overload. Sorry, mind, for the mental stress. Sorry, body, for the torments. Sorry, heart, for the damage.

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