The birds chirped as they flew by, their melodies lively and sweet. It was a bright and wonderful summer day, filled with happiness and brimming with the promise of good things to come.
I couldn't help but feel disgusted.
How ironic it was, for me to die on such a beautiful day.
There I lay, choking in the deep red pool created by my own blood. I could only watch as the life drained out of my eyes until they were dull and lifeless.
As the thick, crimson liquid that was once flowing through my veins dripped out of my body, a suffocating feeling gripped my heart.
Was it regret—or was it relief?
Through the newly made puddle of blood on the concrete road, I stared at my own lifeless face. It was a face, I had seen countless of times in the mirror—yet now, the person who stared back with the same dull black eyes and bloodied face was unrecognizable—like a total stranger.
I can't really say that this was how I wanted things to end.
But I couldn't help but think that this kind of ending felt fitting.
Someone like me didn't suit a happy ending.
And so, on a chosen day, in the summer of August—
I ended my own life.