Then, I wake up. I’m lying in my bed. I look around to see that I am still in my room. I’m not dead.

  I did have a strange dream. But a few minutes after waking up, I had already forgotten all about it. I look at my alarm clock. “6:15 AM” Fifteen minutes before it was supposed to ring, and forty-five minutes before classes start at school. I sigh. Another day of this. I make my way downstairs, to the kitchen, where I expect my mom to be there cooking.

  But there was nobody there.

  My dad left when I was still very young, so from the beginning, it was always just me and my mom. We did everything together. I didn’t make much friends at school. I made some friends. Some come and go. Some stick around. But my mom was always there. She taught me the values that I would live by to this day. Whenever she was around, my day was happy. She made life worth living. And life was great. I had everything I could ever need: high grades, few friends, and a family that was always there. It didn’t matter that my family was incomplete, because I knew that, no matter what, my mom would always be there. Or rather, that’s what I thought.

  And then my mom got diagnosed with cancer. My mom kept getting weaker and weaker. Soon, she was admitted to the hospital. She had hope that she would get better, but she only got sicker and sicker. She spent weeks in the hospital. It started to affect me. My grades decreased. I became even more unsociable. Days would pass where I wouldn’t even leave the house. Countless nights were spent crying in my room. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. My mom. My only solace in this world. I knew what was coming, I was dreading it. I only wished to spend one more day with her. My birthday came around, and it seemed as though my wish came true. My mom came out of the hospital. She was healthy, or at least it seemed like it. It almost seemed as though she was never sick in the first place. I was so happy. She’s fine now. She came back. On my birthday, no less. We spent the whole day together. We had a small picnic in the park, where I told her stories that happened in the real world while she was in the hospital. We went to a fancy restaurant for dinner. We tried different foods that we haven’t tried before. And at night, we went back to our house and watched a movie. It was a comedy movie, and my mom was laughing her brains out. I still remember her smile. I had fun that day. It was even better because my mom was there. It was reassuring to see that she was fine. That she’d still be there for me. Forever.

  She then passed away the next morning.

  The next few days flew by rather quickly. Her funeral came. There were a lot of people there I hadn’t seen before. They would occasionally approach me and offer their condolences. A few of my friends also came. They tried to comfort me, which I appreciated a bit. Some people from my class also came, as well as some teachers. It didn’t really matter. At that time, I couldn’t think clearly. I was still somewhat shell-shocked by what happened. The days after her funeral, I stayed at home by myself. I declined by friends’ offer to visit me,

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  “I’d like to be left alone for now.” I told them. I didn’t leave my house at all. I stopped going to school. The days passed.

  Now, I’m here. In the kitchen. By myself. I go to the living room and notice a photo sitting on the coffee table. It’s a photo of my mom. I look at her face, she’s smiling. The last time I was her smile was at that time. My birthday, the day before she died. She wasn’t healthy at all at that time. She was still sick. She was just acting healthy to spend time with me. Beside the photo is the piece of paper and pen I had prepared last night. I sat down on the couch and briefly wrote something down. I set it back on the table. In case someone decides to visit, I thought. I go upstairs to my room. I grab the chair from my desk and drag it all the way to the middle of the room. I slide open the drawer from my desk and see an object I had been keeping there for the past week: a piece of rope. I take it out and make a certain knot with it. Look at that, I thought, it’s almost like a necklace. I climbed over the chair and tie the end of the noose I have created on the ceiling fan above me. I wear the noose over my head, like a necklace. I take one last look at my room, then I kick away the chair from under me. I felt the rope tightening around my neck as I was pulled down by gravity.

  At this instant, it’s almost as if everything’s in slow-motion. I could feel the air escaping my lungs as I was being suffocated by the noose around my neck. I think about my mom. I think about the times we had spent together. The things she had taught me. What would she think of me now? Would she had approved of this? No. She wouldn’t have. My mom wouldn’t have wanted any of this. She would’ve wanted me to keep on living, not kill myself. For her, the most important thing was for me to have a future. Who am I to let everything she had done go to waste?

  I start struggling. I don’t want to die. Not yet. She took care of me my entire life. The least I could do is make sure it’s a life worth living. I try pulling the noose down to keep it from suffocating me, but it’s too tight around my neck. I reach around it to try untying the knot, but it was too tight. I flail my feet around, trying to reach the chair somehow, but I had kicked it too far out of reach. In desperation, I try using my fingernails to claw open the rope. I could feel my fingertips start to bleed, but it had no effect. No. Not like this. Not yet. I don’t want to die. I can’t let it end like this. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

  I lose consciousness, then everything turn black.