Lana was lying on her bed in her dorm room. She thought about checking to see what time it was but it didn’t matter. Her new cell phone was up against her ear. Her limbs were limp and heavy but it wasn't a bad feeling. Soon she would be free from the unbearable lightness of being. Her phone fell to the floor with a clatter.

The clock in the classroom was the old-fashioned kind. Brad stared at the red second hand. There was a blue pen in his left hand. His test lay at an angle in front of him. He tried reading the questions but they belonged to a language he no longer understood. Random phrases drifted through his mind. “Of course I’ve tried it. Most of us have.” Almost as an afterthought Brad looked at the underside of his wrist. A network of blue veins ran down the pale flesh. A blue pen. White paper. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Dan was dead. Lana wanted to be. Why did you do it Lana? I don’t understand. Nothing matters. Talk to me Lana. Talk to Brent, to anyone. My dad is a wreck. We all are. The classroom was very warm. It was the middle of winter but Brad was hot. He was hot and thirsty. But he couldn’t be hot. Dead people weren’t hot they were cool. Nice and cool. Brad wasn’t dead.

He was alive. Living. Breathing. Taking a test. His father was talking to him again. “Of course I’ve tried it.” Brad thought about the scars on the underside of his father’s arm. He was jealous of those. The room tilted drunkenly as he stood. Brad made his way down the aisle past the rest of the test-taking students. He dropped his test in the trashcan on the way out of class. His pen was still in his hand. There were voices coming from the classroom. His professor was calling his name. He kept walking.


Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.