A Year Of KitKats

[FoxxTheSleepy]

//-Suicide Notes-//

An old woman lies on her death bed, hooked up to medical machines that continue to pump life into her almost empty being. She was a novelist, a weaver of letters and punctuation, creating beautiful quilts to comfort all. She was also a mother, and when her daughter came to see her in the hospital, it was hard to see her cry.

The woman held her daughters hand, a small smile on her withered features. She was ready to go, but she couldn't pass on with all the machines still attached.

"Honey, I have lived a great life," the novelist breathed out, almost a whisper. "You need to let me go now. I need you to have the doctor pull out these nasty contraptions so I can rest finally."

Her daughter could only cry in response, breaking inside because she knew this was goodbye.

The mother continued, "All the books I have written are my suicide notes. They are my final words, written for everyone to remember what I want them to after I'm gone. I know I must die eventually, and am willing to die now. I guess you can call that killing yourself," she waited for the words to sink in and for more strength to speak. "Death is inevitable, and I've always known this. I've never wanted to stray from this truth, no matter how sad. All I ask is you remember me and my stories."

"I love you, mom!" Her daughter cried into her hands.

"I love you too."

The mother closed her eyes as if to sleep, and the doctors unplugged the cords.
 

[FoxxTheSleepy]

//-Books-//

I've only ever talked to him once, and he didn't seem to like me. Most likely because I took his attention away from his book. He loves books. Every time I see him he has his face buried in one, even when he's walking to his classes during passing. I admire how he never seems to be bothered with the outside world, merely breezing by people as if they aren't even there. The dedication he has to a story is exquisite.

There was once a time I saw him without a book though. At first I thought he was reading because he was sitting with his eyes glued to his lap like he would usually do when he was reading during lunch, but this was not the case. I realized he was without a book when the bell rang. He stood up empty handed! Either the way he was sitting was just natural by now or he was seriously depressed he didn't have a book.

Later that day, on my way to my fifth period class, I saw him again. He was peering through the library window with what I like to imagine was puppy dog eyes. He was probably wishing testing hadn't closed the library so he could get a book. I think he was reading a series, and I can relate to the pain of having to wait for the next book. I think he might have had it worse though, because he seemed so lonely without his book to keep him company.