A few rays of sunshine peeked through closed curtains. The red-haired girl flinched as she moved to the side, not wanting to see the light. Well, at least not that light. The one she longed to see would be when she could finally stop chickening out of her decision to off herself. Every time she had tried before, something inside her told her to stop. It was as if her soul clung to the non-existent hope, everything would get better.

But she knew better. Nothing ever got better. Only worse. She had picked up the pieces and tried to mend them together more times than she could count. Every time, someone else shattered it.

Her mother.

Her adoptive father.

Her second adoptive father.

Her brother.

Now, her other siblings.

What else could one take from her? Her friends? Hah, a nice thought.

While she liked to have them around, they never saw her true self. She had made sure, no one did. Dragging other people down wasn't something she wanted. She wanted them to be happy. And once she was gone, they'd be.

The redhead pushed herself up and walked to her nightstand. She took out papers. Her final notes. One for her friends and the other one for the person closest to her.

After both were done, she stuck one note up at the kitchen counter. Meanwhile, the other note was folded and put into an envelope, with the address already written on it. For a moment she wondered, how he would take the news. Considering the fact, that he hasn't written her in a year, she thought, he'd get over it easily. Two weeks, at most.

She slipped into her favorite flats. The leather, once shiny and solid, gave way like caramel. The soles barely hung on the shoes.

A warm breeze greeted her when she stepped out of her home for the last time. She didn't bother looking back.

It took her a four hour drive to get to the next private airport. Two weeks ago, she had bought a plane there. The seller had told her to not fly it since it hadn't been repaired in 15 years. It wasn't like she cared about that.

All she wanted, was to crash somewhere in the pacific, on an isolated island, where no one would ever find her. Or what would remain of her.

Passing by a few people, she now stood in front of the plane she owned. She didn't know a lot about aircraft. The last time she flew a plane was decades ago, but the main mechanics of flying shouldn't change. Of course she knew that some planes had already an auto pilot. Something that controlled everything for the pilot.

Once she had taken off, her thoughts began wandering. Just how many times did she try to kill herself?

The first time it was with an overdose of Tylenol. It didn't work since she just puked everything up again.

The second time she wanted to jump of a building. But people stopped her. She was brought to an asylum.

A few months later she tried the same thing, only this time she jumped from a bridge. At least she tried to, as someone yanked her over the guardrails.

Then she tried lying in the train tracks. Sadly, the train had noticed her and once again, she was sent to an asylum.

After another 4 months she tried hanging herself. Her friend found her and she begged them to keep quiet. Either they were stupid or didn't care, but they kept it a secret.

The last time she cut herself, but the pain was just too much. So, she bandaged it up and pretended like it never happened. Though, once in a while she'd slice her flesh open to have some kind of pain which could awake her from the numbness she was in.

A shaky smile crept on her lips as phantom pain shot through her arms.

She noticed, one engine stopped working. Only seconds later, smoke poured from the second one. Her plane couldn't stop working now. She was in the middle of the ocean. If she crashed there, she'd drown. A slow and painful death. Something she didn't want. Her plan was to crash on land so that the wreckage and debris would bury her, breaking her neck so she could die.

As she spun towards the sea, tears pricked in her eyes. All of her attempts to keep the plane in the air failed. So, she closed her eyes, whispering a few last words.

"I'm coming, mother."