Suicide no. 32: Accident

Suicide no. 32: Accident

–by Derek Alan Wilkinson

I didn’t mean to see it, and I didn’t mean to know. But the creaks were so loud—that old wood bending—and I knew it bore the load of something.

I just never would’ve thought it was you, Mom.

I left my crayons in a curious foray of reds, blues, and yellows that I hadn’t explored or understood the meaning of, quite yet. “Mommy, mommy.” And you’d never answer, ever again. But I saw you—in a way no one should ever have to see anyone they loved as much as I….

But, in a way, you’d always wanted it that way—for someone, somewhere—to feel so sorry for you that everything they were inside would collapse into itself. For awhile, I did.

And it did, and I did, over and over again for years. When I was seven, I saw your swaying corpse held up only by that thick nylon rope—that wonted noose.

And now, here I am, and you’re not—years later. But I know what I face, Mom. And I won’t face it like you did.

It wasn’t an accident to find you. I was the accident, the mistake. Perhaps, maybe, even life itself is the accident.

But I won’t face it like you did.

Inspired by The Daily Post’s daily prompt, “Accident,”:


2 thoughts on “Suicide no. 32: Accident

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