Would you attend my funeral?

I wish I didn't have time to listen and reflect on the static in my head. Raspberries drowned the noise; I couldn't stop laughing. When I heard myself, I felt reproachful. The laughter was false, but it spilled out of me anyway. I walked and walked and walked. I wanted the soles of my feet to wear off. I wanted the soul of my body to wear thin and waste away. I wanted all morality to collapse inside of me, so that I could build new foundations that would bring me to a tragic end that very night. I walked and I walked and I walked. I wanted to walk until I didn't recognize where I was, but I wanted to hear the boisterous voices of my companions within a block's radius. I had to have them near me... so he wouldn't come. I didn't want to get raped, but I wanted to die.

I imagined a car sidling up to me, the driver demanding my company in the vehicle. I imagined a gun in his hand and determination in his stare. Then I imagined how I'd walk to the driver's side, make him roll down his window, then how I'd direct his gun to the left of my chest. 'Pull the trigger,' I'd say, with even more resolve in my glare. Sometimes, in this mental concoction, he'd release a bullet. I'd either die or get saved. If the latter, no one would know the real story except me. No one would know how I had put my life before abduction and molestation. But they also wouldn't know the reasons why I'd rather choose death over losing that control. My qualms, my secrets... the ones that make my heart, mind, and body scream...