My alarm clock buzzes and shakes me from my dream. The only place I feel safe enough to be myself. I don’t fit in well, I’m bullied constantly. You know, everybody loves a f***ing queer. Oh, no, it really is nice, though. Total strangers get to vote on whether or not I get to marry the person I love. And as a bonus, everyone loves to be in my personal business. Lucky me! I shower, dress, get my backpack, and eat breakfast. Done. With my stomach in knots, I head out the door to catch my bus.


It’s not long before I get on my bus when I hear the school bully yell, “Faggot!” Like, are you kidding me? It’s seven in the morning. F*** off. Instead I make my way to the back. In solitude, and I do my best to hold back the tears.


Upon arriving at school, everyone stares at me. Oh, right. I’m a freak show. I don’t even consider being gay as one of my defining characteristics, but people are too shallow and cliqued up to care. Coming out at 15 wasn’t my best choice, but it was necessary. If high school is supposed to be the time of my life, it sucks. So I figured I wouldn’t bother hiding myself like these assholes.


I flip off people here and there, to remind them I don’t give a s***. But it still hurts. I try to appear unmoving, like a stone, but underneath I’m a soft and creamy center. And I bruise easy as a peach.


In my first class, biology, I’m hated. Literally hated. I get called on, and picked on. I hear, “Look at this slomo try to answer. He’s f***ing stupid. Go kill yourself, you useless flamer.” Of course. Why should I live? It’s a common theme to say I’m just like everyone else. Except they’re infinitely better.


My day is rough. When I finally get to lunch, I sit alone in the back. I can barely manage down my sandwich. I go back up for a drink. Maybe some water will make me feel a little better.

I’m halfway up when I trip. Some big jock just decided to stick his leg out. Classic, oh, hey, did I tell you how much I don’t f***ing care? That’s when my hair gets wet and I realize there’s now chocolate milk running down my face. It mixes with blood and tears. I can’t take this s*** anymore. I’m running home.

When I get there, I search the basement. Ah, an old rifle. I grab bullets from another drawer. My hands goes up and down the shaft as I think about sweet release. But my poor mother and little sister…no. Too late. I prop the gun next to my head. No note. No nothing. I pull the trigger.

The last thing I heard was the gun shot. And I instantly fall asleep. And never wake up.