People would always tell you how similar you and your mother are. You didn't really believe them. Somtimes, maybe, you were like her, the way you adjusted other people's shirts for them, she did that too. But your morals, well not even morals, just the way you lived your lives was different.

Tonight you know for sure you're different. She sold her bookstore. The beatiful little bookstore between the movie theatre and the drug store. The only thing other than the old ice cream parlor that wasn't run by a chain, and now it will be.

She smiled while she told the family at the dinner table.

It was the most sickening smile you'd ever seen.

It was the sort of smile that a villian's face wears as he's starting the laser that will vut the good guy in half starting with his penis.

It's driving you crazy. This is only the latest of the problems in your shithole life. There was the girl who just wanted to be friends, a whole year of silent admiration, wiped out in a sentence. There was the time you tried marijuana, just once, just to try it, and your parents found out. You weren't allowed to see friends for two months, not that that meant cancelling plans. And this shithole town, the one you've lived in all of your life. The same vacations every year, more of a chore than an escape, spending time in resorts with middle-aged, management-level golf players.

"I'm done with this shit." you decide. You've never attempted suicide before, but you have a general idea of how.

Pills, lots of pills... The bathroom.

Odd: The medicine cabinet is open, someone must have forgotten to close it this morning.
Even odder: The multivitamins are gone...
In your limited knowledge of biochemistry, 5000% of the recommended daily dosage of Iron, Vitamins Aardvark through Zebra, copper, zinc, uranium, whatever the fuck they put in those things, would be enough to do you in.

Maybe they're downstairs in the kitchen, someone might have brought them down by accident to take one with some orange juice.

Your mom is lying on the couch in the living room, next to the kitchen, you made enough noise coming down the stairs that she must be asleep.

"You'll be sorry" you think, and suddenly you remember what you're doing. It's a strange feeling, like when someone leaves you a gift on your desk, an almost paralyzing sense of confusion. Part of the magic of this world, you think, is that acts of kindness are that rare.

The vitamins aren't on the kitchen counter, or in the fridge.

I can't wait to go away to college, you think absently, then I'll at least have some controll over my life, even if that means a shit paycheck and an apartment with a shared bathroom. I wonder if I'll need to own a gun to protect myself... I'm not sure I could ever bring myself to kill someone... Oh wait, you think, yes I can, I was going to kill myself..

To kill myself. right. That's what I want to do. My mother sold out to big business, and I have no friends who care enough about me to call or invite me to anything.

so... I want to kill myself.

You look at your mom. She's the reason you're going to kill yourself. Her 'morality', her 'always looking out for you' which meant that you didn't get to go into the city to a concert with your friends, you would have needed a chaperone since it was at night. She's such a bitch.

She's also not breathing.

You watch her closely now. No, she's definitely not breathing. You found the vitamin jar too. It's empty though.

Maybe she didn't like the day's business transaction either. Maybe she felt like a hypocrite for punishing you for trying pot, when she'd done the same thing when she was a year younger than you.

You're more like your mother than you thought, apparently.