Today's the day, I can't handle it anymore, I know I act like nothing matters and I can never get hurt but don't they know that I'm still human and that I have feelings. Sure they act like they care but if they really did, and then wouldn't they see the hurt in my eyes, how much I loathe myself, how much I don't want to live. No one ever notices, I'm just a replaceable shell of a human.
They don't lend an ear to my problems and yet they ask me about my life and health, that’s the irony. The thought of the afterlife frightens me, the uncertainty of life after death, but it will never square up with the hell I face on earth. I finally decided whether or not my life was worth it, worth all this trouble and torture; it’s not.
Maybe that's why I'm here now at the Cimitero Monumentale di Milano. I know that they say Dum spiro, spero (while I breathe, I hope) but I feel like I have nothing left to hope for. I thought what better place to end my life than here at the cemetery.
As I looked at the jagged lines on my arms, their hurtful words echo through my head, the more I looked at the cuts I realized how much I wanted to do this. I got up from where I was sitting and took my Swiss Army Knife out and chuckled darkly, the same object my parents gave me to protect myself was going to be the reason of my death.
I saw a dark figure from the corner of my eye. Was it my tormentors, who had come to see me at my weakest, inhaling my very last breath, the ones I called friends who put a world of expectations on my bare and fragile shoulder.
I heard a young voice whisper from behind me, "Who are you?"
He asked, his voice was filled with innocence but one would still be able to feel the sadness in it. "Nikolaos di Angelo" I said to him in a soft voice, so as to not scare him away. His eyes flitted to my scars just for a second before he looked back at me, "I’m Kalan Pietro. Di Angelo? Are you an actual angel then?"
I was startled by his question and genuine curiosity built up inside me; I stared at him for a few seconds before replying "What? An Angel?"
Still unsure of what he meant. The kid replied, “My mum told me that those who have marked wrists are angels.”
I laughed lightly before saying, “I’m anything but an angel.”
He cocked his head as if he was confused, for a second, before saying, “Of course, you are. Mum said that only angels harm themselves because they don’t like life on earth. This world is destroying them so they try to return to heaven again. They are too sensitive to the pain of others and their own.”
I was astounded by his words and in a shaky voice replied,” You know, your mum is very wise.”
A sad look overcame his face for a moment before disappearing as fast as it came and he said,” Thank you. She’s also an angel but she has already returned home.”
I told him, “Your mother was a strong woman, but she stayed strong for too long. I, too, am like her. And I wish for my happy ending too."
Then the boy left leaving me to my own thoughts and little did he know that my happy ending waited for me at the same place his mom had escaped to. Little did he know that next time he came to visit his mum he’d find my grave next to hers.