the note

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


The protagonist writes at the end of his life, trying to find the turning point when he started changing into something not even he could have thought of.

Submitted: February 13, 2018

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Submitted: February 13, 2018

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I was ready. I have had enough, just the thought of waiting one more second, made me sick. I was standing on the top of a building, probably ten feet tall. Unfortunately, I did not choose the spot, it could have been a more honorable place, but I guess the stress and sadness had finally made my will to live collapse. There was no turning back. I was only a few steps away from ultimate freedom. Honestly, I never thought it would end this cowardly, but like I said, it had been enough. I used to always say, that suicide was an act of complete lack of courage and common sense, but I did not care…. So I jumped.
I felt free, I was really “flying” away from all the madness, that people cause. I guess I was so sad I did not even realize, the moment my body crashed on the ground.
Many people believe, that right before you die, you see your whole life flash in front of your eyes. Guess what? It is all nonsense. I did not see a thing, no memories, no happy moments, nor did I see my last days. So, I guess, now that it is settled and you all know the truth about death, I am going to tell you about life, or at least how it used to work for me.
I am going to start and explain myself to you, my suicidal reason was not some unimportant shit, that I overreacted, I was not that of a coward.
 I am going to walk you through my life, so buckle up and let’s get started.
I was born in a poor family, somewhere in the suburbs of Detroit City, we lived in an extremely small house, considering that there were five of us, my mom, my three brothers and… well…. me. I never really got to meet my father, because he left after he found out that my mother was pregnant with me. I was the eldest. My siblings were a few years older than me. Brooklyn and Tanya were twins, four years older than me, and were inseparable. Andre was one year older than me, he had always been a bit shy, he could never stand up for himself, so the other kids used to mock him, but I was always there for my little brother. The sad part was that all of us came from a different father. Now do not get me wrong, my mother was a respectable woman, I mean, as respectable as she could be. The only problem was that she was looking for resources to keep her and later on her babies healthy and alive. She was not a gold digger, she was just surviving. Her salary just could not keep up with the bills. Also, there was a man needed in the house. Apparently, she made three bad choices, as all three men in her life left after finding out the pregnancy.
The neighborhood we were living in was unsafe and violent. There were always guns popping, people shouting, cars screeching, men and women swearing. I grew up in a violent place, but it was not my choice.
At the age of seven, my mother got really sick. At that time Andre was six, Brooklyn and Tanya were three. I went to the hospital but unfortunately, the procedures that were needed were quite expensive. So, my mother came to the conclusion to start taking Xanax. At first it was just to dull the pain, but afterward, she became addicted.  Just like that my life to a critical turn, I was an eight-year-old boy, had three more siblings and our mother was a drug addict. She used to beat me up just for fun, she had never done that before, I mean before starting to take Xanax. I did not even know what was up with her, but I obeyed her. I did all the chores in the house, took my siblings to kindergarten and later to school. I guess that is why they would have had a better shot at a normal life. So, like I said, I used to be beaten up every day just for fun, I had bruises all over the face, ribs, and hands, but after a time I got used to it. One day, years after the start of her addiction, my mother came up to me while Andre, Brook, and Tanya were sleeping, she woke me up looked me dead in the eye and told me that if I don’t find her more of the pills she was taking, there was no more place for me in the house. I had no other choice but to obey her. That is how I ended up being involved in illegal activities. I used to deal. The money I was making now besides the one at my part-time job was dirty. I felt disgusted by myself. I kept asking myself why I was doing it. But it was too late, there was no way out. I was never addicted, I never did drugs, despite what most people think, I never did any of those things. I was just doing it so I could have a roof over my head.
There were always wars between the gangs, but I was always trying to stay out, I did not belong in that world. Unfortunately, three times I witnessed murders. I was walking home, when I heard gunshots, I quickly ducked, but one girl behind me was not paying attention. She got shot in the head twice and died on spot. The other two times were even more horrific as in both of the cases children were involved. I saw two kids get shot on the same day. The police were no better because we were black, they used to shoot at us like on a hunting day. They used to arrest us for no reason. It was mad. It was hell on earth.
I never shot anyone and I am proud of it. I actually attended and even finished high school. I used to love to write stories, I was more of the artistic type, peaceful. Eventually, my mother overdosed and died. I never actually felt anything when she died. I was already numb. The only thing that could get me out of that stage was music and writing stories. I was too young and unprepared to take care of my siblings but I was old enough to live alone. So they took Brook, Tanya, and Andre away from me, they ended up in the system as far as I know a rich family took them and cared for them, at least they got to stay together. I ended up all by myself.
I changed my job, I was now working as a cleaner at a local newspaper typography. I do not know how they accepted me, after all, I was black and at that time we were always looked from above, we were always discriminated. I used to love literature, unfortunately
,I did not grow up in a place where I could express it in any way. During those time, most of the people with the same skin complexion were either sad rappers who never made it, but the most of them were dragged into the drug world really quick and became either dealers or suppliers. Sadly, a lot of them were homeless and addicts with no future. Actually, that is how the people saw us: as sad addicts with no future.  I saw the simple job as a cleaner at the typography as an opportunity. I was finally able to see how the world of letters was, from the inside. I loved the sound of typing and the sound of my pen scratching the paper, it was music to my ears.
One day while I was having lunch in the canteen and I accidentally dropped my pen. I nice young red-headed lady picked it up for me. She was pretty, her eyes were deep blue and strands of her hair kept falling in her face. It looked like it was bugging her as she pulled out a hair band. She looked me in the face and said: ‘’That pencil is blunt, here, take this one.’’ Then she walked away. I had not really noticed her before, she had this childish air. There was something about her that stuck with me. So, I kept the pen, finished my meal and went back to work. From that day I kept looking for the mysterious red-headed girl. Her desk was somewhere in the back. Every time she entered the typography, it was like a ray of sunshine was walking around. Anyways I must have forgotten my ‘’work’’ in the canteen, because one day she came to me, smiling as always and showed me the piece of paper I had written the day before. There was a post-it attached to it with some notes written. I took the paper and before I could even react, she had already walked away. There were a place and a time written on it: 8 PM, Town’s cafeteria. I glanced up and saw her turn her head when I looked in her direction. I could see she was smiling, it made me smile too.  Out of a sudden, I felt embarrassed, she had seen my writings. There were questions in my head, swirling around. Did she like it? Was she impressed?
I guess I must have been daydreaming for a long time, because the boss came up to me, looked me square in the eyes and told me to get right back to work. The day went by fast, it was 7:30 PM, I quickly finished mopping the floor. I rushed to my apartment, changed my clothes, then I left for the mysterious meeting.
The cafeteria was quite crowded, but as soon as I entered it I saw her. She had a lovely flowery dress and she was smiling brightly. It had just occurred that I had not picked up. I was such a fool, shaking away that thought I walked towards the table. She was already sitting down. I smiled back and sat down. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it back. I did not know what to say or do. I felt awkward. “So, I am going to be blunt and tell you why I asked for you to meet me, first of all, the small description you accidentally forgot at the canteen was absolutely amazing, and I mean it, second of all I want to propose you a deal, I can talk to people, you know, people I know and if you are lucky and that is a big if, I might get you a chance in the writing industry.”
I was shaking and had no words. She spoke very fast, without taking any breaks. I truly was speechless. All I could say was:
“You are insane.”
It must have sounded a bit off because she was looking really confused.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you.”, I mumbled in a deep throaty voice.
“There is no need to apologize, I quite enjoy being called insane, at least I am not boring.” She laughed.
“I guess so”, I thought.
My thinking was interrupted by a blond, curly-haired waiter, who asked us if we need anything. I ordered a cup of tea and my so-called “work date” asked for a cake and a hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. She seemed so childish. Again, I must have zoomed out, because suddenly I saw her snap her fingers to get my attention.
“Are you alright”, she asked,” You look exhausted.”
I told her I was just having a rough time, apparently, she understood that I did not want to talk about it, so she let it be. The waiter came back with our food. We talked about small things, hobbies, nothing interesting. Then she got real and told me to not tell anybody about this deal of ours as it would be dangerous for the both of us. I agreed.
It was getting late so we paid. As we were walking towards her car, it struck me, I did not even know the woman’s name.
“Wait! I didn’t even get your name!”
She turned around, now facing me: “It is Sienna.” Afterwards, she turned back around, got in the cab and left. I watched as her lift disappeared into the traffic.
“Sienna”, I mumbled under my breath. “Interesting name.”
I went home, consumed by thoughts. I wanted to take Sienna’s offer so bad, only there was a problem. I had not gotten any degree from any college. In fact, I did not even finish college, I dropped out so I could take care of Andre, Brooklyn, and Tanya. Sienna probably did not even know that. Her enthusiasm was contagious. I started imagining myself publishing books, being appreciated, for a second, I almost thought it would actually be possible, just to wake up living the same miserable life, in my small pathetic apartment.
Days past and I did not see Sienna in the typography, I was not worried, I was only wondering where she was but I kept pushing the thought away. We had only met twice, we did not even know each other very well, there was no point in me thinking about her. Only I had realized the way I thought about her did not really awake any emotions in me. It was a rather odd feeling that I could not fully understand. As the days past, I kept writing and soon my table in my small improvised kitchen was full of sketches. I was quite proud of myself, I felt hope and happiness. Sienna got back to work and she was always asking for new drafts of my stories to read. She did not even realize how happy she made me when I saw her read my writings in the cafeteria. Sometimes I could even spot a tiny smirk on her small lips, which she immediately wipes off as soon as she realizes I am watching her reactions. I felt alive, for the first time in a while and it was good. The idea of me writing for more than a one-person audience was still far away, but it seemed as if I was on the right way. I know it may seem as if I am exaggerating, but I could have probably never done this on my own. First of all, I did not have any degree, because I did not finish college and second of all I was black. And that was for my times problematic.
One day, one specific day Sienna came up to me, with a wide smile


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