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I was sitting on a ledge, contemplating life. A lot had happened in my life to lead me here. Some of it good, a lot of it bad, but that is what defines us as people. Isn’t it? Defines the strong and the weak, who can turn lemons into lemonade, who can turn coal to gold.

My legs swing below me as I contemplate life. My mom loved me so much. Even when dad left, she still made sure I had my sandwich with the edges cut off for lunch. I hadn’t seen her much except for the mornings. You learn things like how to do your own laundry when your mom has to work three jobs and six days a week.

I tilt up the bottle and take a swig as I contemplate life. Life implies living; enjoyment. I took after my mother. I couldn’t afford to go to school so I got several dead end jobs to take care of myself. I didn’t want to burden my mother any longer with my problems so I moved on. She’s supposed to come over in the morning to see me. Probably make sure I still have my sandwich with the edges cut off.

I swallow some pills and wash it down with more from the bottle as I contemplate life. I never had many friends. I always had a few and they were loyal to a fault, but even they couldn’t save me from myself. I loved them dearly and I can picture each of them and the great times we had. Breaking into the counselor cabin at summer camp, our first time smoking weed, drinking scotch with Jake’s dad. Sure we did a lot of things we shouldn’t have, but there was a fun thrill of doing it with those you trusted.

I look over the edge at the few people walking past on the sidewalk below me as I contemplate life. Everyone is so oblivious to those around them. They just want to live their own life. But are they truly living? Some of the best parts of life are in helping other people. Small acts of kindness. It’s always the little things that matter.

I step away from the edge and listen to the song playing. It had always given me a sense of acceptance. There are other people out there like me, rejects like me, people who aren’t the strong. Even people you would think were the strong turned out to be anything but. Even celebrities end their own life. It is not a good motivation to those of us on the edge, but it makes them feel more real. They have the same problems we do. They may not have the jobs we do, work the hours we do, but they still have problems. Some problems aren’t worth coming back from and still others we can’t come back from.

The end of the song comes up and I have an epiphany when I look back at the ledge. “I wish that I could fly, way up in the sky, like a bird so high, oh I think I might just try.” That’s one thing I hadn’t tried before. The irony of the song is the lyric “if I survive I will see you tomorrow.” So many times I’d seen them tomorrow. My wrists are scarred. My gun in my friend’s safe. I get daily calls to check on me. But that is relative when you see yourself as a failure. I couldn’t even succeed in killing myself.

I look back at that ledge as the lyric comes back to me. “I wish that I could fly, way up in the sky.” The pills are hitting me now. I know it’s the delirium from too many. I’ve done that before too. I close my eyes and breathe in the stale air of the city. It brings the smell of regret and pain but adds to my conviction.

I look out towards that ledge again. I think that I could fly. Flying is freeing; liberating. It’s now or never. I hear sirens and see the cops in the distance heading this way. Either my mom or friends must have seen the email I sent them. I was sincere, telling them how good they had been to me. Saying I will miss them. How I long for the times past.

I look at that ledge again. I think it is time to fly.

Bullet

Hollywood Undead