It all happened so fast. The bomb. That’s all I remember. The explosion disintegrated the entire front half of the plane. We landed in the western portion of Death Valley. I am lucky to survive the crash. Ah, my family. They were there, too. I hope they are okay…
I stare at the children racing around through my apartment window. They are happy children, with not a care in the world. This makes me more depressed. My family did indeed die in the wreck. I can’t believe it. The Suscéptors have struck again. The Suscéptors are a group of anti-air terrorists that threaten airlines by destroying their planes. Only two passengers survived the crash – me, James Jenkins, and a girl names Margaret Powell, who is in hospice care at the moment.
My life is over. I can’t help but think about Jessica, about Josephine. They meant the world to me. But then a group of idiots comes along, just to be the little APD sufferers they are. I heave a random book across the room toward the front door. I cannot believe this. Why me? What did I do? Why was it I that survived? Why not my daughter, of wife? Just take it easy. Soon I’ll forget all of this. No, I will never forget. I can’t forget. The mental ghosts of my family will forever haunt me.
I hear a knock at the door. I wait a moment, then drudge over to it form my position at the window, and turn the knob. I see the familiar face of Frank Revere. Frank is a tall man, six-four, with short sienna hair and same-colored eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He has been a close friend for a decade now, and he introduced Jessica and me eight years ago. Frank holds out a small box coated in red and gold ribbon and origami flowers. Jessica loved red and gold, and flowers. “This is for you,” he states with a solemn expression. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I reluctantly take the box and turn to the side to get a better view of it. “Thanks. I hope you’re doing better than me… er, I.”
“I am,” Frank responds. “Matthew is scheduled to graduate next month. Oh, and I only grieved about Brian’s death for a week. You will

carry on soon.”
“It’s not like that. Not at all,” I disagree. “My entire family died. Dozens of others died. I will never recover.”
“Of course you will! Be optimistic about life. You only have one.”
I shrug. “What’s a life if you have no family? I have no one. I’ll do anything to bring them back.”
Frank steps forward. “May I accompany you, then?”
“I just want to be alone.”
“Okay.” The door gently closes as I make my way to my bedroom. I lie down on the bed and hold the box above me inverted. I remove the lid, and then a folded sheet of decorated printer paper floats out. I open up the paper, which unveils a poem Frank wrote for me.

I heard the news that your family had died;
I’ll make it better for you and more.
I know what to do, and I’ve never lied
‘Cause the same happened to me before.
I hope these words invigorate your soul
And heal your heart’s everlasting sore.
But all I could do now is a quaint lull
From out here behind your mind’s closed door.
I’m pretty sure that what you’re going through
Feels like it’s a rowboat with no oar.
Trust me; you can make is through these times, too
While I help you row back to the shore.
You still will be able to see your wife;
Once you die, you’ll see her furthermore.
Just make sure you don’t try to end your life
Since you have a good life to live for.
Even if you think you cannot go on,
I can come and warm your body’s core.
Even if you think your gladness is gone,
I’ll come up with some more metaphors.

There’s something about poems I love. I am not sure what it is, but it is present in both me and my… my wife. No. I can’t push the thought of her away. I gaze out the window to distract my grievance. Cars roar down the boulevard and some roll into the apartment’s parking lot. I know what has to be done. I hurry over to the corner of the room behind the open door where I keep my belongings. I ruffle through thick navy blue bags searching for one thing only. A glimmer of stainless steel catches my attention, so I pull out a pistol. Jessica had always been a bit paranoid, so I bought a gun so she would feel safe in the house, and she could shoot burglars for self-protection. Now I guess it will be used for self-demise.
I shove the gun up to my temple. Should I do it? Will it be worth it? I can see my family again in heaven, but is it worth it? I know I will eventually go insane, but it may not be worth it. After all, I have a good job and good friends. But no family.
No family.
I turn off the gun’s safety. Will there be a consequence? What will Frank think of me if I do it? Should I do it, or not? Can I do it? I may be a wimp, but I will do it. Will Frank feel guilt, thinking his poem drove me to do it? Should I do it? Should I? I pull the gun down with a sigh of relief, clicking the safety back on. I can’t do it. I can live though this. I can create a new family. The phone on the desk blares a familiar ringtone, but I ignore it.
Another thump at the door shatters my thoughts what seems like an hour later. I move through thick syrup out the room to the door, where Frank appears again, breathing in a storm. “I just received a call from the hospital,” he stated enthusiastically.
“What happened?” I groan in annoyance.
“You know Margaret Powell, who survived the crash?”
“Uh… yes,” I reply, confused. “Why would I care about her?”
“The doctors finally got a name out of her today. She’s not Margaret, she’s your daughter!”
I look up suddenly, surprised to hear those words. “What?”
“Yes! Josephine is alive, in the hospital.”
I feel my heart flutter. “Ah, p-please tell me this really happened. You better not be lying.”
“I’m not lying. I’m telling! She is open for any visitors.”
A nervous groan escaped my throat. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” I sigh. Never will I ever tell him of that suicide attempt. I may be scheduled an appointment with the psychiatric hospital. I bear hug Frank, who nods in respect and agreement. Yes. I will not live alone. I have family. My life isn’t over. I plan to live a normal life, and so will Josephine, with or without Jessica.