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Description
I found the rope in my art teacher’s desk. I decided to do it in the art supply room, facing the sunlit window. Always look on the bright side of life I thought jokingly. I tied one end to a steel bar that ran along the ceiling, and made a noose at the other I pulled up a chair and sat there for a bit. Then I pulled out my notebook, where the night before, I had written my goodbye letters to people. One to my mother, who blames me for her dead end miserable life (Hence naming me “My Sadness and Pain”). One to my school, who’ve tortured me inside and out these brick prison walls. One to Andrea Calvino, the girl I loved, and perhaps the only person who cared for me an ounce. And a letter to the first person to find me after it was all over.

Dear you:

Instead of paint brushes and canvases you’ve found me here before you hanging lifeless. My name is Mia Tristezzo Agrippo. You’ve probably mocked me, or shoved me into the walls, or waited around after Last Bell to attack me and steal my pants. But whoever you are, please looking into my empty eyes and remember forever what you have put forward, and tell everyone what you saw. So that the next gawky kid never has to live my miserable life.

Yours, Parting,

Mia Tristezzo Agrippo

I stacked up my letters, with the Finder’s letter on top. I stood up onto the chair and put the noose around my neck. I took one look to my right. I saw a rat scramble behind the paint tins.

“Goodbye, Mia Tristezzo, goodbye.”

I closed my eyes. I stepped off the chair.

When I opened my eyes again, I was still in the supply room. The chair next to me on the floor.

A rope around my neck.

And my feet flat and firm on the floor. There is no mercy when you’re six foot seven.

The bell range, Lunch was over. I sighed.

I put away the rope and chair and picked up my letters, returning them to my backpack.

In the hallway on my way to History, Paula Ciccio asked me about the burn around my neck. “I tried to hang myself in the supply room but I was too tall.” I told her dull and honestly.

She just laughed. “You’re so morbid, Mia Tristezzo, you’re just so morbid.” And laughed some more and walked off.

I gave up any more attempts at death. It was pointless when I'm prone to life, miserable or not.

Description
I found the rope in my art teacher’s desk. I decided to do it in the art supply room, facing the sunlit window. Always look on the bright side of life I thought jokingly. I tied one end to a steel bar that ran along the ceiling, and made a noose at the other I pulled up a chair and sat there for a bit. Then I pulled out my notebook, where the night before, I had written my goodbye letters to people. One to my mother, who blames me for her dead end miserable life (Hence naming me “My Sadness and Pain”). One to my school, who’ve tortured me inside and out these brick prison walls. One to Andrea Calvino, the girl I loved, and perhaps the only person who cared for me an ounce. And a letter to the first person to find me after it was all over.

Dear you:

Instead of paint brushes and canvases you’ve found me here before you hanging lifeless. My name is Mia Tristezzo Agrippo. You’ve probably mocked me, or shoved me into the walls, or waited around after Last Bell to attack me and steal my pants. But whoever you are, please looking into my empty eyes and remember forever what you have put forward, and tell everyone what you saw. So that the next gawky kid never has to live my miserable life.

Yours, Parting,

Mia Tristezzo Agrippo

I stacked up my letters, with the Finder’s letter on top. I stood up onto the chair and put the noose around my neck. I took one look to my right. I saw a rat scramble behind the paint tins.

“Goodbye, Mia Tristezzo, goodbye.”

I closed my eyes. I stepped off the chair.

When I opened my eyes again, I was still in the supply room. The chair next to me on the floor.

A rope around my neck.

And my feet flat and firm on the floor. There is no mercy when you’re six foot seven.

The bell range, Lunch was over. I sighed.

I put away the rope and chair and picked up my letters, returning them to my backpack.

In the hallway on my way to History, Paula Ciccio asked me about the burn around my neck. “I tried to hang myself in the supply room but I was too tall.” I told her dull and honestly.

She just laughed. “You’re so morbid, Mia Tristezzo, you’re just so morbid.” And laughed some more and walked off.

I gave up any more attempts at death. It was pointless when I'm prone to life, miserable or not.