You won't hear about how he was the popular guy that everyone knew, nor will you hear about how he was the one quiet student that was bullied.

No, this is not a book of stereotypes, but one of reality. 

Reality sucks, so this story will most likely reflect that idea. 

As an author, I do find it annoying to read the same plot that has been used way too many times, so I will do my best to stray from the expected ending.

I will do my best to keep from writing corny, unrealistic material. 

Please bear with me through this story, for this will be one that will contain too much of my mind and time. 

Judge all you'd wish, I honestly do not care. I am writing this, and I don't care if nobody reads this. 

_______

His eyes were emotionless, for he was done. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to laugh. He was done, he was emotionless.

He thought of his Health Class, they had just begun discussing depression and suicide. Apparently, most people that commit suicide just want their pain to end.

Is that all it was? For weeks, he had been emotionless.

His mother begged him to talk to her, but he didn't want to. He was told to share his thoughts, but he had none.

Nobody believed him. How could a person not think? 

He could never give a good answer, so he just made something up.

He walked down the steps to the basement; heart pounding in his head. He had tried to hhang himself prior, but stopped when he realized just how painful it was. He hadn't slept since then - thoughts of his cowardice filling his head.

A small voice told him he shouldn't be doing it, because he had begun to wonder if he just did it for attention.

But as he lifted the rifle and sized it up, he only felt a mix of slight dread and excitement. He walked back up and grabbed his car keys. "I'm headin' out, Dad!," he called as he put his huntin' coat on. 

The fisherman raised his eyebrows. "Catch something big. Remember to keep quiet, don't want to scare off the game."

He nodded and walked out, climbing into his truck that was filled to the brim with different tools to capture dinner.

_________

He drove to the lakefront, throwing the large moose into the back of the truck. He placed the barrel of the Belt-action rifle to the bottom of his chin. He stood with his back to the water, already leaning on his heels a bit more. He cocked the gun and shut his eyes tightly. It hurt a bit to ready the firearm, only because of the size. 

He pulled the trigger with a tear rolling down his face. "I'm sorry, Abigail."

POW!

The body of a sixteen year-old boy from Alaska was now floating in the water from which the fish he ate just hours before had been killed by his very own twin sister.

On the antler of the large animal in the truck that had been cut into lighter peices, the formal hunter had carved his final message:

"Don't shed a tear for me. You don't shed any for the animals."