If I close my eyes, tomorrow the dog will stay in our backyard, sniffing, playing, chasing, as dogs do. He won’t lick my face when I try to get near him enough to fasten his leash, he won’t run ahead of me to try to get to the park faster, he won’t dash off the millisecond I let go and he won’t bother the annoying pigeons that plague the grimy old playground. None of that will happen, because he will stay in our backyard, behind our once-white fence. He will not be fed either, or be given water as that responsibility fell on a certain someone everyone else is trying not to think about. He will wait and wait for his owner, patiently, obediently, under his favorite tree. Wait and wait he will. And after hours of waiting someone will take pity on him and bring him water and food which he will drink and eat eagerly but he will still wait. Why? Well, because he is just another piece of collateral damage left behind by my misery.

If I close my eyes, tomorrow my sister will stay home, but she won’t sleep in or use her phone or read or write or play like kids do. She won’t be dressed and ready by 7:30, sitting on the sad wooden steps of our front porch waiting for me to take her to school. She won’t call me an idiot for going back for my textbook because after years of the same routine I still manage to forget at least one thing every morning. She won’t call shotgun even though it’s only the two of us going to school and I won’t roll my eyes and tell her, like I always do, to shut up. She won’t respond with her typical, “You used to be fun before.” None of that will happen because she will stay in her room all day. She won’t speak to anyone for a long time, opting instead for going through the daily motions of life without really living it. She will be left with a deep hole inside of her, in the shape of a certain someone she is trying to forget. Why? Well, because she is just another piece of collateral damage left behind by my misery.

If I close my eyes I won’t be at the school gate by 7:50. I won’t pass by unnoticed in the crowded hallways that always seems to suck the air right out of my lungs. Students won’t push or joke or tease or yell or scream or laugh as students do. I won’t shuffle from class to class disregarded, ignored, neglected, overlooked, unheeded, unseen. Or at least that is until those narcissistic seniors throw petty comments only meant to feed their own egos. Until their words find home inside my head, clinging on to my every thought until there is nothing but unrelenting pain. Because, regardless of their harmless intentions, they still hurt, more than a punch to the stomach would. But that’s okay, because that won’t happen. If I close my eyes, come Monday morning, instead of the usual deafeningly jovial chatter that always fills the narrow corridors, their voices will be withered down to nothing. Weary and worn their tone will be. Even those who let out hurtful comments with each passing breath will feel their shoulders drop, weighed down by something akin to guilt. They’ll shuffle from class to class, lifeless and limp just like a certain someone they once teased.

“How young,” most will say.

“What a waste,” they will moan.

“Why?’ Everyone will think.

Accusing fingers will point to anyone but themselves, because at the end of the day no one wants to be responsible. Why? Well, because they are just another piece of collateral damage left behind by my misery.

If I close my eyes, mom will no longer nag at me to go outside more, to be more active like before. I won’t have to push down my anger, down to the depths within myself where it can only hurt me. She won’t yell from the bottom of the stairs that dinner is ready. She won’t exasperatedly roll her eyes and mutter how ‘unsociable’ I’ve become when I tell her I’m too tired. She won’t do any of that but will instead call every relative she knows to break the news. With sunken eyes and an aching pain in her chest she will brave that day, and the day after that and the day after that, just like a certain someone she once told bedtime stories to. She will no longer complain or nag or stress or worry as mothers do but will instead become a phantom of her former self, agonizing over every small red flag she failed to see before. She will no longer wish me a good day, she will no longer ask me about my day, she will no longer hug me goodbye, she will no longer look me in the eye and say the three words she failed to say when I was still alive. She will instead decide which flower arrangements shall best suit her child’s funeral. She will plan what foods will appeal her mourning guests. She will plan an hour and a date in which her baby will be laid to rest. She will say goodbye one last time, kiss her little one goodnight and leave with tears in her eyes. Why? Well, because she is just another piece of collateral damage left behind by my misery.

If I close my eyes, the pills I swallowed earlier will lull me into a deep sleep I won’t wake up from, one I don’t want to wake up from. I close my eyes now and let myself be soothed into peaceful darkness, sleep finally takes me under where tranquil nothingness awaits. As I finally let go of all my worries I won’t hear the rapid footsteps coming up the stairs.