I have decided this won't be a story where he will be saved by a love interest. The very thought of it disgusts me, especially when I know none of that happens in real life. The ending will be simple, with him deciding to end the story himself. In his own work room, intoxicated, he decides that he has enough of it. He's tired of trying and getting nowhere, tired of feeling so abandoned and alone. He grabs the cutter in his desk and presses it against his wrists. Both of them, to make the ending come quicker. An unexpected end in the most tragic manner. Pushed up against the wall, all the pressure weighing him down, and he decides to give in to it. This is the reality that people need to see. The real ending to these stories.
The fatigue is getting to me. As I compile the papers, I notice that they've been smudged with red ink. Which is funny, because I could've sworn I threw out the broken glass of red ink this morning. Maybe I didn't clean up the mess properly? Or maybe I didn't wash the paint of from when I was painting earlier. I then realize that the red ink is everywhere. It's all over my desk, on the floor, it's a complete mess. Is this a prank?
... I'm sorry. I lied. I said that I was writing a story, but I wasn't. I am the character in this story. This story is my life story. My struggles, my hardships, all of them written on paper. A note that I will leave behind for people to see. The people I wrote about? My last words. I didn't apologize for simple things, I told them I was sorry for everything. Now that I think about it, maybe dying should be one of them.
I collapse to the ground as I start to lose strength. I look at my wrists which are soaked with crimson red blood. I've been bleeding out for a while now, is it not over yet? I don't feel any pain, maybe drinking scotch was a good idea after all. The rain is getting stronger and I hear the thunder clapping outside. Is there a storm coming? It doesn't matter. I feel so calm. Maybe this time I can fall asleep.
I see a bright white light come from the window as lightning strikes close by. Slowly after, the power goes out, and here I am in the dark. My consciousness is slowly slipping away. How fitting of an ending. On a dark and rainy night, I decide to end my own story. Dying in the darkness, like I used to in most of my life, except this time there was no light to push it away. I feel sleepy. Maybe it's time I went to sleep. At least this time I don't have to wake up.
I've done it. I've written stories with unconventional endings, and now I've done the same with my life story. No happy ending, no love interest to save me. This is the real ending that I want people to know. With depression being so romanticized, it's as of people forgot that suicide was a thing. That it was also another ending. Maybe I should've written a better ending. Maybe I'll get criticized for giving people an ending they didn't want. It doesn't matter anymore though. This is the ending I decided for myself. I just hope that maybe, just maybe, this will give everyone around me a better ending.