Final Day (part 3)

They saved my life. My lonely, unsuccessful, unimportant, useless life. They gave themselves to a lost cause. I wasn’t very smart. I had a 50 in each class, a 50 exactly. I wasn’t dedicated or passionate about anything. I didn’t even know who I was, it didn’t matter to anyone, and so what was the use in looking? My parents died in a car crash. I was off alone in a park and they were unsure if I was safe. I wasn’t answering my cell phone so the drove to find me. They lost their lives trying to ensure my safety. That is the true definition of love: willing to give up everything, for one person, and not asking a single thing in return. I was down, I was in the park so I could cry and no one would know. Then the moment I found out the only people that loved me and that cared about my existence were gone, I lost any reason I had left to live on this earth. So once this fateful day when the overcast came I didn’t even write a note. There was no one to write to, no one that would notice. It had been two years since my family and I had moved and only around a week since my parents had left me. The funeral had passed and again I had slipped under the radar. People gathered around the friends after the service to console them. I didn’t get as much as a passing glance. It was the longest day of my life. I wore a black fedora with a black veil over my face. This left me to freely cry and not have to face the world. In a situation like this some would turn to drugs, or alcohol. Well, some have money while others don’t. I had no hope, or money to survive on. I had no ambition for anything. There was no point in the effort. I knew exactly the way things would go once I was gone. I wouldn’t show up at work for a few days, so they would call and there would be no answer. Days would pass and eventually someone would be sent to my house to find me. They would find my corps. A short investigation would go underway. They would learn that I had no family, no money or dept to pass on, and my face would be in the paper. It would be the first anyone would hear of me. They would say “Look at her, such a pity no one cared!” They’d laugh cruelly at the pain I had gone through and the end that had found me. It wouldn’t matter though. The adults would complain that they should have done something. They would claim that they saw the signs, or should have seen the signs. Someone would faint after hearing the details of my scene, my final scene. All of a sudden my death would be about the people that are still alive, never about the one that won’t be missed.