The morning after I killed myself,

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started. —Meggie Royer

Kết quả (Anh) 1:

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors ' yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn't finish what I started. — Cheryl Royer

Kết quả (Anh) 2:

The morning after I Killed Myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and toast for a used my cheese sandwich and bacon. I squeezed a glass grapefruit juice Into a. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and the butter off the counter rinsed. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I Fell in Love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I Fell in Love with my mother and the way SHE sat on the floor of my room from my rock holding each collection in the her palms sweat with an until chúng Grew dark. I Fell in Love with my father down at the river as he placed my notes and sent it Into a bottle vào current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way the her tail twitched khi bird flew or how the her pace quickened by at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in the her eyes reached a stick and khi SHE Turned around to greet me than play catch but could chúng saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her Do ask for their muzzle and SHE wilted beneath or she did once for touch like mine.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I Went back to the neighbors' yard where I left my Footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined They were already fading how. I picked vài daylilies and pulled weeds and watched vài Elderly woman through the window as her Do read the paper with the SHE news of my death. I Saw Her husband vào kitchen sink spit tobacco and bring her her medication daily.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree like a hand opened and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I Went back to the body in the morgue có tried to talk some sense and Into the her. I Told the her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and the her parents. I Told the her about the Sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I Killed Myself, I tried to unkill myself, but could not finish what I replied to. -Meggie Royer