As the pain ripped through her chest, her phone fell upon the oak stained floor. Walking slowly to the bathroom a few things were running through her head: What did i do wrong? Where did i mess up? Would he miss me if i was gone? those exact words were running through her head as she threw in the multiple small white pills, the cold water hit her throat and she felt a stabbing pain as they went down. She laid upon the bed with a pencil and piece of small white striped paper, and begun to write her life away, she was a writer so she knew every in and out of the books. she had made it so simple yet so hard to read. Her pure, beautiful handwritting turned slowly, sloppy. They found her laying on the silky sheets of the bed in more comfortable position. She still looked as if she had so much life left to live. She was taken too soon and gone too long. The detectives gathered the evidence and marked her as a suicidal victim. The letter she wrote was carefully put in a small zip lock bag and taken away. He got away with what he did, know one knows what was on her phone, but her, him and the detectives and those are the only people who ever will. I will forever carry this heavy thing in my heart, but I wont let it hold me back or bring me down. The letter eventually got put in a box and stuck on a shelf forever.