My breath.
It comes out, ragged.
Forced.
I lay on the ground.
The cold bathroom tile.
In my final moments of pain.
Ending my own misery.
In my own filth.
In my puddle of blood.

I hear the door rattling.
"Miranda?!?!"
Dad shouted at me.
I couldn't utter a word.
My eyes closed, slowly.
I could still hear my dad's horrified yells.

My breathing got more forced.
I got more weaker.
My eyes half-lidded.
I could see a figure.
In a dark cloak.
I couldn't make out the face.

I could hear the breathing of it.
So clearly.

Then.
I heard the door break down.
My dad broke it down.
I took my final breath.
I coughed up blood.
It went down my lips.
My last words came out.
In a bubbly gasp.
As dad rushed to my side.
"I'm sorry…."

My dad had a horrified look.
My eyes closed.
A bloody bubble popped from my mouth.

Then.
Nothing.
I saw nothing.
I could still hear everything.
I could hear the paramedics.
Trying to save me.
But.

It was worthless.    
They pulled back.
I was declared dead.
And how I died?
I slit my own throat.
With a razor.
The razor was in my hand.
As I died.

Then I saw the same figure.
He picked up my soul.
Then I left.
I left.
Not knowing what'd happen.
To my mum.
Or my dad.