Suicide

There He was. I knew it. I could feel it. He sat, frozen on the couch in the crowded little apartment with a gun that He stole from his father's vault, aimed at his breaking Heart. It's my fault, ya know. I'm the one who broke His heart, but He broke mine and sent me to the mental ward, so the way I see it, fair is fair. Little did I know that it would go that far.

I have a family gift. The gift of intuition; it's a strong and powerful gift, and I could feel that something was amiss. I layed frozen in the steamy bathtub as my heart sank to my knees, and my brain started pounding in my skull. It was unbearable; it was if I were sitting in an indian ritual with someone beating the drum in a repetitive motion. I got a bolt of energy and stood up. I screamed for my father, and he burst through the bathroom door as I drapped the heavy towel around my body. I explained the situation, and was at the apartment in a flash.

I ran up three flights of stairs, and pounded and kicked at the sturdy wooden door. No answer. I began to panic and started screaming His name. Finally he opened the door, and I threw the gun from his hand, and He was safe for another day.

That was the night that we reminded each other how much we loved one another, and we stayed up all night, just looking out of the window at the bright stars above, wishing that we could fly free, and live together in eternity.