Two teens, girlfriend and boyfriend, were sitting on a bench at the park. The air was cool and the sky was gray. They looked out to the grass and the children playing on the playground. The boyfriend slowly moved his hand to his girlfriends, but she jerked it back. Her eyes burned in the cold from crying to hard last night.
If I told you, I would kill myself in front of you . . . would you stop me? he asked her.
Perhaps. she sniffled.
There was a small pause of silence.
Do you still love me? he asked.
Why just sometimes?
Sometimes you give me hugs and kisses, and sometimes I see you with someone else and giving her hugs and kisses.
But I always said sorry and I give you roses all the time.
Roses and apologies dont always repair things.
Well, Im sorry. I mean it this time.
Will you mean it the next time? Or maybe the time after that?
Her boyfriend stood up, took something out of his pocket. It was a gun. The barrel went into his mouth and he pulled the trigger. The girl didnt scream. The children were silenced. The parents stared. Regret, does she? She looked at his body. Blood sprayed everywhere. She put her body to his body, giving him a hug. His blood soaked into her clothes staining her bare skin. At that moment, she could have sworn he said, again, Im sorry.
The only difference this time was that it sounded like he meant it.