I look into the mirror, trying to make sense of who I really am.1
         My reflection stares back at me with empty eyes.
         "Who is this guy?" I think. Who is this short, brown-haired, scarred, skinny guy staring back at me?
         I look down at my scarred hand. Years of cutting and self-harm have led to my hands and arms being marred with cuts running in random directions. This has led to my wearing gloves all the time, and taking them off only when I was alone.
         I can already hear the muffled screams of my drunk dad and mom yelling at each other downstairs.
         "Let 'em fight." I think bitterly to myself. I was tired of trying to stop them.
         I hear plates crashing and chairs being thrown around downstairs. I hear my mom go silent, and my dad stomping off into the bathroom.
         I grab my backpack, quietly run down the stairs, and go out the side door. My dad was too drunk and too angry to even bother checking what the sound was.
         I pull my black hoodie over my head, secure my gloves, and continue walking down the lawn. There was somewhere I had to go.
         I walk for hours across my neighborhood until it is nearly sunset. I doubt my dad even cares that I am gone. He is probably happy no one is there to stop him from drinking. And my mom? Assuming she had regained consciousness, she would be cowering in the bedroom, hiding from my dad’s drunken rages.
         My mind is in a flux.  Some people call me the bad one. They say that I don't bother to protect my mom, to break up their fights. But they don't think it's bad when my face is slashed by a broken beer bottle by my dad, and when I’m left to sleep outside during the night.
         I reach the entrance of the forest. I quickly sprint down the clearing, stepping on twigs and leaves, the cool air whistling past my ears. Finally I reach the spot.
         A tall oak tree, with a big hole inside it.
         I sit down in front of the hole. I feel emotionless, not scared at all of what is about to happen.
         I reach into the hole and search with my hands. Under layers of rocks, dirt, and leaves, I finally feel it. The hard, metal touch of a handgun.
         I pull it out, brush it off, and c*** it. There is only one bullet in it.
         I stand up and look at the world one last time. The beautiful forest, with leaves higher than the sky. The only sanctuary I had known through all these years.
         I tighten my grip on the gun, and raise it to my temple. I swallow, and close my eyes.
Time seems to flow in a retrograde direction. It is all going to end soon. I am about to pull the trigger, when something slams into me.
         I collapse to the ground, and look up. A girl had tackled me from behind.
         "No! You are not doing this!" she screams.
         I pull for the gun, and she pulls back. We are in a tug-of-war with a loaded gun.
         I reach over and pull harder with both my hands. This girl, whoever she is. is surprisingly strong for someone so thin, and she doesn’t let go.
         Suddenly she pulls so hard my gloves come off.
         She has the gun in her grasp, and my gloves are on the ground, revealing my scar-covered hands.
         I quickly stumble down and jam my hands into my pocket.
         "Give. Me. The. Gun." I say quietly through clenched teeth.
         She points the gun up and fires the only bullet into the sky.
         I cringe. My only route for peace, now gone.
         She tosses the gun into a nearby stream.
         For a moment, all is silent. I expect to hear police sirens in the distance, but we are a mile deep in the forest. No one would hear anything.
         "What's your name?" The girl's voice breaks the silence.
         "Why do you care?" I growl, clearly disgruntled.
         "I do care." She smiles. "So? What's your name?"
         Something about her smile calms me. It is very disarming. Sure, I am still in shock, and still miserable, but a little ray of light peeks into my soul.
         "M-Michael," I whisper.
         "Hell of a foolish thing you were about to do, Michael. Why were you going to do that?" she asks, hands on her hips.
         "Shut up!" I yell. "You don't even know what I've been through."
         "Oh, yes I do," she says. She pulls up the sleeves of her fleece, revealing her skin. It was traced with bruises, cuts, and red bumps.
         "Y-you..." I stammer.
         She nods.
         "This is also my sanctuary, where I go to cool off from problems. Funny, huh? Looks like we share the tree." She looks up at the highest branches of the tree.
         I slump down, sit on the leaves, and put my head between my knees. I leave my hands jammed in my pocket. My thoughts are still very disconcerted.
         I hear leaves rustle as she sits down next to me.
         I sigh.
         "I just feel like... nothing's ever going to change." I say.
         "I feel that way every single day," she says.
         We are both silent for several minutes.
         "Hey, you should come with me," she says suddenly.
         "Why?" I balk defensively.
         "I want to have a conversation with you. You seem like a good guy. You can forget about the kill-yourself thing. Okay?"
“Listen, whoever you are. Just leave me alone. Please. I came here to solve my problems, not to make friends.” I say, wallowing in self-pity.
“Michael, listen to me. Do you still want to die?” she asks quietly. “You’re being pretty
callow about this, you know? No matter what happens, taking your own life will make more problems. Please, Michael, come with me.”
         I sigh.
         "Okay, let's go."
         We both get up. I pick up my gloves, quickly put them on, and shoulder my backpack. We begin to walk out of the forest.
         "Hey, wait a sec," I said.
         I reach into my backpack and pull out a folded piece of paper. It is the suicide note. My suicide note.
         I hesitate, then rip it into pieces. I scatter them, and cover them with dirt and leaves.
         The girl smiled.
         We continue walking out of the forest. It is quiet for several minutes, with nothing but the crunching of leaves and the sounds of our breath resonating through the air.
         "Do you like coffee?" she asks.
"It's okay, I guess." I respond.
"I know a place we can get coffee,” she says. "And we can talk there."
We continue walking in silence.
"Hey, I never asked you your name." I suddenly say.
"Anna." She smiles.
"Uh, why did you stop me...?” I ask.
She stopped walking, and faced me.
"I couldn't bear it if I let you shoot yourself, could I?"
I smile. It is a real smile, the first one I’ve had in years.
“It’s funny. Sometimes I feel like doing it myself, but I can’t seem to let you do it.”
She smiles back, and from the nature of it, it is one of the first she has had as well.
We continue walking.
"Anna?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
I sigh, and look up into the night sky.
The stars twinkle and shine on this unusually clear night. Maybe life is worth it and
has more beauty than I once thought.
         When we get out of the forest, several police cars are parked at odd angles and officers have clustered round, talking to each other.
         “There’s been a suicide here. Body identified as 17-year-old Michael Lister.  Cause of death: handgun. Further investigation will continue. No note found as of now.”
         Michael smiles as Anna leads him past the police. Hand in hand. They rise higher and higher, up into the clear night sky, where no one will disturb them anymore. That night, the sky had two more stars that shone brightly among the others.