"3 Months Ago"
Life is complicated when you're poor and expected to magically be ready for the "real world."
How am I supposed to plan a future when I've got nothing going for me? I'm not smart, not talented, not driven. I don't even have a dream.
College? With what money? Even if I went, I'd probably fail. And if I don't go, what's left? Retail? Warehouse work? Scraping by for the rest of my life like my dad?
He works 12-hour shifts just to barely keep us afloat. I see how tired he is—bags under his eyes, body breaking down. He still smiles like everything's fine, but it's not.
And I'm not like him. I don't have that kind of strength.
I can't live that life—just surviving, paycheck to paycheck, hoping it doesn't all collapse. I'd rather not live at all.
So I gave myself three months. If I don't find a way out—some miracle, some reason to keep going—I'm done.
I know how it sounds. But to me, it makes sense.
I'm invisible anyway. No real friends. No skills. Nothing to offer the world. Even if I disappeared, would anything change?
Probably not.
"Present Time"
"Cheers!"
"Next is Gus—come get your diploma."
This is it. My last few days on Earth. Not because I want to die… but because I don't know how to live.
I should probably go somewhere quiet. Wouldn't want anyone stopping me or finding me too soon. But first, I'll go home and figure out how I'm doing it.
I walked slower than usual, taking in the streets, the people, the air. Might be the last time I see any of it.
When I got home, something felt off. No one was there. That never happens. Still, I shrugged it off and headed to my room.
I could leave a note—but what would I even say? "Sorry"? "It's not your fault"? I don't think it would make a difference. If they cared, maybe they would've noticed I've been breaking for years.
Anyway, I decided I'd take the gun I bought and walk far enough that no one would hear it.
Quick. Quiet. Clean.
I get up to check the house one last time. It's still empty. Strange. Too quiet.
Whatever. I'll just grab my gun and get it over wit—
BANG.
My body hit the ground.
I turned my head, confused, dizzy—until I saw him standing there.
My dad?