[ WP ] here you stand , alone again , about to take your own life . Nothing is holding you back now . You decide to look around your room one more time until something catches your eye , and the impact it has on you stops you in your tracks and makes you realize why you ca n't do this to yourself .

The trigger of the gun felt cold against my finger. I knew it was time. 
 
 Nobody was out there for me. Not even *I* was out there for me. I took a look around my old room, taking it all in one last time. 
 
 Then I saw it. 
 
 *That was 3 years ago. She does n't care about you now* my mind reminded me. 
 
 *But what if she does? * my conscience retorted. 
 
 These thoughts glued me to the bed for a fleeting moment. `` What of she does?'' I wondered aloud. 
 
 *She made you that man. Do n't do this. TALK TO HER. * 
 
 Suddenly, my arm buckled under the weight of the gun. I let it fall, resting it upon the bed. I stood up and, with tears streaming down my face, trudged over to the item on the table. 
 
 It was a CD. It was one of those blank CD's you buy, and she had loaded it up with some music. I had never listened to it before. I figured, since it was the only thing that had ever been given to me, I'd give it a listen. 
 
 I popped it out of the case, carefully, struggling not to break the disk. I laid it slowly into the slot on his CD player, and closed it by pressing the button. 
 
 The first song was Goeillaz - Clint Eastwood. I liked them a lot at the time, but now had grown past them. I could still appreciate the fact that she included it though, and I suddenly felt great. `` Great'' was something I had n't felt in a LONG time. I knew, right then, that I had to see her. 
 
 `` What do you pack when you fly?'' I mumbled to myself. I'd never flown before, and would have to sell the car to buy a ticket. That car sucked anyway. A ticket to see *her* is all I would ever need. Or, so I felt at that wonderful, incredible moment. 
 
 So, yeah, I flew to Chicago. I stepped out of the airport and was brought to my knees from the cold, cold wind. `` Holy Christ!'' I said a little loudly. 
 
 `` Hello, tourist!'' a very flamboyant, smiling older gentleman said to me. `` Want a ride? My cab's right over there.'' 
 
 `` Y-y-y-y.....'' 
 
 `` Get in, kid.'' 
 
 The heat had been left on, and I could feel it right away when I stepped in. I looked to the thermometer on his dash. `` 4 degrees!?'' I said, shocked, still warming up. 
 
 `` Heh, that's not even including wind chill kid! So, where to?'' 
 
 I took out the notebook with her info in it. `` 45, 12th Street, sir.'' 
 
 `` No need for sirring, man. You call me Clyde. I call you....?'' 
 
 `` Call me Kevin.'' 
 
 `` Alright Kevin, who is it?'' 
 
 I felt like I'd been adhered to the seat of the cab with railroad spikes. 
 
 `` Look, kid. I see hundreds of poeple every day. I've learned to.... read people. And you, well, I can read you like an open book. Let's narrow this down, shall we? Who is *she*? 
 
 `` She's the only thing I have left to live for.'' I said calmly. I could feel the warmth of the cab fade suddenly, Clyde slumping in his seat a little. `` Well, here we are.'' he said *almost* unenthusiastically. `` You do n't owe me anything kid. Good luck.'' 
 
 I went up her stairs, and knocked on the door. This was it, I told myself. One chance.
