Its obvious by now that I like to write creative stories and poems, yet most seem to be pretty depressing. I guess that since I am normally a funnyt and uplifting guy, its good to get these emotions out. Cant have too much of sadness or joy, it gets unhealthy. So, here I go again. Plz comment. The life you leave behind. The rope pulled taut. His last thoughts being "At least it wasnt my wrists this time". There was no rush to the hospital, no family crying, no therapy. Now, there was only the ticking of the clock on his wrist, right above the scar. It was a quarter till 2, but for some reason, it had been too long. He felt the rope snap, and quick fall to the floor. He shook himself awake enough to try to find out what had happened. But instead, he walked. Walked past his note on the counter, past his dog whining in the yard, past the car in the drive. He ended up down the street, at the house of the only one who had ever cared. But even she stopped eventually. This girl, though he never admitted it, was one of the reasons he hadnt died 3 years earlier. But High school had been tough, and not even the thought of her had any effect now. He opened the door and found himself walking in to a brightly lit area. As his eyes adjusted, he was in what appeared to be her bedroom. He didnt remember going through the rest of the house, but maybe he had just blanked for a sec. It had been known to happen once or twice. Sitting on the bed was what must have been her diary. Having no idea why he was there, he stopped for a sec. Eventually, he decided to read. What could be the harm in it? Perusing through the pages he came upon an entry dated the week before: "Dear Diary, I am going to keep this short, but I talked with him today! I dont know why but I think I still like him. I tried, but I could never help seeing an inner beauty. And despite what my friends say I dont know if it will stop." ....He was as shocked as it was possible for him. She still liked him? He realised that maybe death, though peaceful, would be horrible with this new knowledge. Now he might have something in this world worth holding onto again. He flipped the pages back and forth, revealing years of time together they had lost. What seemed like hours later, he found himself back at the day they broke apart. But the words seemed to be a blur. They were smushed and started swirling, until the pages engulfed him all together. Darkness. His heart had stopped at 1:46 that afternoon.