Say Something

Please note: This story contains material about suicide. Please proceed reading with caution. Thank you!

“If you see something, say something.”

A slogan developed for instructors to tell their pupils when crises come. Something easy to remember and expected to be the ultimate tool.

It’s not that easy, isn’t it?

I had my shares on the number of times I heard someone say “I can’t do this anymore”. As an empathetic person, all I want to do is to dip myself into them, soaking up their burdens and letting them breathe. The emotions are so intense that I feel the same: lost, confused, lonely, depressed. Never the attempts of the people dear to me have been successful; however, there were too many close calls.

***

The world transported me back to my high school days, returning to hundreds of students rushing to class, waiting for the long periods to be over. A sixteen-year-old boy, nameless, was known to be at high risk around the school. Disheveled blond hair covered his bloodshot eyes. His figure disappeared under his baggy clothing, worn and faded from previous washes. The school knew that his mental health wasn’t the best. Often he had panic attacks, leaving him with handfuls of hair and a tear-stained face. He had no intention of hurting others, but the others thought he was just being dramatic. Rumor had it that he asked a group of people if he should kill himself. They were speechless at such a question, only mumbling “no” in response. 

One evening, the school held their annual school carnival.  The early-September weather was usually warm, not too hot. Everyone looked forward to this event. Children had the opportunity to get their faces painted, stuff their faces full of snacks, and play games with their parents. Teenagers and young adults didn’t mind this event, since they would be granted volunteer hours. Music blared through the gymnasium speakers, the floors were covered in confetti, popcorn, and streamers. 

I was outside, overstimulated from the celebration. The sun had set and the temperature dropped a few degrees, making the evening bearable. I made my way towards the back of the school. A singular street lamp lit the area just enough to see some classmates conversing casually. Laughter rippled through the negative space. I sighed.

That was when I saw the boy. It wasn’t his presence that caught my attention, it was what he was holding.

A gun. 

Not a minute later, his mental spirals turned into heavy breaths, interrupting the hush of voices. The boy covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Like a bird trapped in a cage, he tried to flee by pacing in small circles. His cries made my heart ache. 

Everyone around me only glanced at the situation. A couple of guys scoffed and walked away. It seemed that no one took this seriously, even I, who turned around as well. What stopped me was the sound of metal. I glanced at my left and saw that my peers reacted similarly. Fear smothered our faces. On some, a bead of sweat trailed down their temples. The boy's cries were louder, assuming that he faced away from the wall. Loose metal sounds made our eyes widen.

Bang.

Everyone ducked and slapped their palms to their ears. The bullet bounced from the wall to the ground. His cries turned into sobs. 

He missed. 

The rest of us were frozen and unable to help. We surrendered to our doubts long before we could speak. There was no hope. 

My breath hitched.

Metal sounds from his shaky hands became muffled from the barrel. I started to turn…

Bang. 

The gun clattered against the concrete. 

Silence. 

The world around me became blurry. I gripped my stomach. Dripping sounds pricked my skin like needles. 

A scream.

A cry.

Footsteps accelerated in the opposite direction. People ran from the sight. Curses were shouted out of their panic. 

Drip.

Guilt bubbled in my core. A dash of nausea added to the anxiety mixture. I covered my mouth and grabbed the corner of the building. My body no longer supported me. 

My thoughts were as loud as sirens. He’s gone. No one called for help. The corners of my eyes became wet from my failure. I wiped them away.

I ran to the nearest entrance of the school. My father happened to work at one of the games. Before I reached the doors, red splotches sprinkled the concrete. 

My eyes traveled to my shoes. Red dots decorated the heels of my sneakers. I gagged.

Inside, everything was normal, as if no one heard what just happened. Children still screamed from their sugar rushes. Moms talked about their favorite activities. A couple of teachers roamed down the hallways. I walked down the hall, my hand on the wall for support.

My father was never one to show much emotion in these sorts of crises, yet ended up understanding the situation. There was nothing we could do. On the way to the parking lot, we passed by the scene. My nose burned with the scent of rusty metal. His body was covered in puddles of blood. Stray hairs sprinkled around his body. His head was no more; instead, it was splattered around him, staining the concrete. The wall was tainted with chunks of red. The sight was horrifying.

Silence.

Drip.

My stomach churned. I looked up, only to my father’s mouth in a thin line, eyes lowered. Just like before, we stood there, frozen. Several minutes passed. My father finally turned and walked away. I followed him.

Drip.

Darkness floods the alley. 

I saw it, yet, I didn’t say anything. My throat burns from the potion of pain.

He’s gone.

***

Feelings of hopelessness are becoming more common in today’s world. Anxiety often prevents us from functioning normally. We often wish for someone to reach out, yet, when they do, we get upset and lash out. To protect themselves, the person tries to avoid conflict. All of a sudden, yet another life has left this earth, leaving that person with the feeling of guilt on top of their grief. 

It’s not that easy, isn’t it?

So, if you see something, say something.