11272892_847812051963254_1840294869_n

Goodbye, cruel world! Is that how suicide notes begin? Whatever! I’ve had enough. Usually, the person committing suicide blames someone in their suicide note. Well, where to begin! Should I start with my absolutely useless and horny parents? Maybe! If you don’t have the brains to purchase a condom, then maybe you didn’t deserve to have sex.

Hey, my so called mother! Ever heard of abortion? Nope, don’t think so. If you were dumb enough to get pregnant with a child you never had any plans of raising, then I guess you wouldn’t have been smart enough to visit the nearby clinic. My worthless father, great job sticking around mate. Hope you had a great night of fornication.

My foster parents, If your idea of bringing a child up is whipping the cane out for every small mistake, you needn’t have bothered taking me in at all. Might as well you could have let me live my comparatively less miserable life in the orphanage.

My amazing friends, you were there whenever I didn’t need you. But where the hell are you now? When I need you the most.

My supportive colleagues, thanks for all your backstabbing. My favorite boss, thanks for believing my colleagues.

My dear Gloria, Go to hell.

Edward read and reread his masterpiece. This single piece of paper will make them realize their follies. There were better and most definitely easier ways to end a life than lying down on a railway track. But Edward loved to go out with a bang.

The location was perfect – the railway line under the old bridge. Snow fell delectably, covering the ugliness of the world around him. Edward smiled sadly on hearing the Carols that came wafting along with the bitter winds. Few more minutes and it will be Christmas. One great person was born many years ago and another would die all these years later at the exact same time.

Edward pinned a red ribbon on to his note and placed it near the tracks. He selected a perfectly round stone and placed it over his note. They had to read his final words, they just had to.

His job done, Edward laid down on the tracks. He had nothing to worry anymore.

They found his body intact, the next day. He had frozen to his death. Under a small rock near his body, was a torn page from a magazine with a red ribbon pinned to it.

The last train had traversed through those tracks half a century ago.

Note: Many thanks and congratulations to Emily Weatherburn for initiating and hosting the latest fiction challenge – Sunday Scrawl. Yet another opportunity for all us, aspiring writers to hone our skills and learn from each other.

Word Count: 421

Find other entries to the first edition of Sunday Scrawl here.

Advertisements