Disclaimer: I own nothing!

WARNING!: MAIN CHARACTER DEATH!

Authoress's Note: Now, this story is alot more depressing than what I'm used to. But the idea got in my head and would not get out! Even when I banged my head against the wall. Kidding, I wasn't that desperate. So I wrote it down and WALLAH came up with this. And I'm in a bad mood anyway so I thought 'What the heck, why not!' So enjoy.

P.S. This is one of those set in 2008 America story's. Keep that in mind. 'Cause if you don't, then you'll be really confused.


As I sat in the dark once more, I listened to Linkin Park's 'Numb', wishing I could be anywhere but here. I pulled my sweat jacket tighter around me as I saw the bedroom door open. Here come's the cause of all my pain. As Peter walked in the room, a dissapointed look on his face, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong. Despite everything, I don't hate him, even though I have the right. He's in the right, after all. I'm nothing but a stupid teenager who stays in his bedroom listening to his IPod all the time. But I turned it off and put it on the bedside table when he turned the light on, blinking to adjust to the light.

"What's up, Pete?" I asked.

"Like you care." he snapped. I bit back any response that would most likely turn futile and kept my mouth shut. "See. I knew it!" he said.

"I do care about you, Peter. You know I do." I said.

"Sure you do." he snapped slamming his backpack down "Why don't you just drop dead!" he snapped walking from the room.

And once again, Peter is right! I should just drop dead. What am I here for anyway? Nothing of importance, I'm sure. I'm just the black sheep of the family who means absolutely nothing to anyone. I think the only one who truely cares about me is Lucy. She's always trying to get me to smile. But she usually has to settle for fake one's. She typically comes to me when she has a bad dream. That's when the genuine reassuring smiles break through. And she does have the strangest dreams. Sometimes I do too. The place I usually wish I could go when I sit in the dark. I emerse myself in the world that isn't there. I know Lucy does too at times, but not as often as I do. My grades are slipping because of it. But I figure why even try.

It's kind of strange. At times Peter says he loves me and that he's sorry for snapping, but he always snaps again later. And all I ever hear from my parents, Susan, and other relatives is 'You should be more like your brother'. I would love to be more like him. Handsome, talented, does well in school. No wonder the girl's chase after him! But Lucy always comes to my rescue and says I'm perfect the way I am. Perfect my arse! If I'm perfect this world is doomed!

I knew mum and dad had left. Lucy was at a friend's house. And Susan was out with her latest boyfriend. So basically Peter and I were the only one's home. I know he's downstairs, watching TV most likely. This made thoughts come to my mind that I have truthfully never had before... suicide. I tried to shrug it off but it only became more intense, and soon it didn't seem like such a bad idea after all. The only person who would miss me would be Lucy. I knew she would. Mainly because she's only one who ever calls me 'Ed' or even 'Eddie' anymore. It's always 'Edmund' and never my nickname. I miss that. Susan calling me Ed. Peter calling me Ed. Mum calling me Ed. And Dad calling me Ed. But no. That's changed. No one cares anymore.

I couldn't move the thought from my mind. It was right there staring me in the face. It was right there... under my pillow. My family didn't know this about me, not even Lucy, and I liked it that way. She'd probably freak out if she knew. I always keep a knife under my pillow, and when I get the chance I cut myself. The pain is good in my opinion, it means I can still feel something, even if I've blocked off all other emotions to anyone but maybe Lucy. Without thinking I pulled up the sleeves of my sweat jacket to look at the scars. Peter figured I was just cold all the time... boy was he wrong. Hey, for once, Peter's wrong. Or maybe he knows and just doesn't say anything.

Once again I tried, without success, to push the thoughts of suicide from my mind. I tried to add logic too it to make it to where it was wrong. For one, I'd be killing myself, murder. That's one of the ten commandments. Thou shalt not kill. I'm fairly sure that counts yourself.

"But what do you care?" a voice in the back of my head spoke.

"I don't." I sighed aloud. I reached under the pillow to grab the knife. I pulled my sweat jacket off. Slashing at my wrist's would kill me, but I wanted to do it quickly, and that would only kill me slowly. My hands wre shaking as my mind went over what I was about to do. I decided to leave Lucy a note. She deserved that much. So I put the knife to the side for the moment and wrote Lucy a quick note. I placed it in clear sight and wrote another to Peter. I didn't even think of writing one for Susan. But regardless I wrote a quick one for her. Mum and dad didn't need an explanation. Like they'd care anyway. I made sure each note was easily seen before bracing myself. It would hurt, but only for a moment.

I heard someone walking up the steps, Peter most likely, and ran over, quickly locking the door. The door nob turned but the lock prevented it from turning.

"Edmund, let me in." I heard Peter call.

"Go away!" I snapped. That's the first time I've ever snapped.

"Come on, it's my room just as much as it is yours." he called.

"Well it will be your room soon enough!" I yelled picking up the knife.

"Why?! Edmund let me in!" he called, pounding on the door.

"I said go away!" I yelled, tears now streaming down my face.

"LET ME IN!" he called. His voice was more desperate than I had ever heard it.

"I'm sorry Peter." I called, holding the knife but a few inches from my chest.

"ED! LET ME IN!" he yelled. Ed? This caused me to pause for a moment. He called me Ed. For once, he called me Ed. I knew I had to do it quick when he started hitting the door. It would bust down soon. And then I would loose the opportunity.

I clenched my eyes tight and forced the knife into my chest, piercing my heart. When the pain hit, my eyes shot back open. I pulled the knife out and it fell from my grip. Not but a second later I was on the floor. And with a final gasp, I slipped away.


I told you it was depressing! Did I not! I know I did! I did, didn't I? Anywho... this may or may NOT be a one-shot. It's hard to tell at this point. Please review! I'd really enjoy it!