Flander sit at the table in his studio. The same table he had used to write every song he had every wrote. The same table he had used to impregnate his love, Tess Bottom the night before. The same table he had fell out onto after being up three weeks hundreds of times. The same table that Electric Roses had carved their names into when they were thirteen in Larry's basement. Thinking of all this, Flander smiled. But it quickly faded, just like every other smile he ever had. He was writing a letter to the world, or to whoever who cared to read it. He had shot up twice today, snorted so much that only God knew the total, and smoked a pound of purple haze; he was still finishing the last blunt. Once his note was done, he had to end his suffering; that's what the shotgun was for. He wanted to blow his head off, he did not want to blow his brains out, he wanted the whole head off. He did not want the only one that ever loved him to see his face after what he had done; he had always told her that if he was ever going to leave her he wouldn't be able to look her in her pale blue eyes. He had been crying all day, but couldn't change his mind. Depression had finally took his whole mind over. Drugs didn't even ease the pain of depression anymore.
"Dear Lord and my Love,
After twenty-two years of pain and misery, caused by depression and drugs, I've finally decided that putting this shotgun to my head is the only way out. I've tried it all, therapy, opening up to others, self manipulation, and the other thing that ever helped it was drugs. Now, drugs don't even help. I remember my first joint. I remember how it made me feel like a king, untouchable, it was the only thing that could make me stand the sight of others. At first, I only did weed, but by tenth grade I was doing it all. I mean, I know it's bad, but god dammit put yourselves in my shoes! Try waking up, and having to smoke the blunt sitting next to you or you can't move because of the fuckin depression that was destined to put me six feet under! Try having to snort a few lines to rid your head of depression. Everyone just thinks I'm a fucking junkie because I chose to be! That's utter bullshit! I am a fucking junkie because of the depression. No one knows the relief I get after snorting a line, or shooting up! No one! And I'll be god damned if I leave this world without the world knowing the true me and why I do what I do! When I do drugs, I feel numb all over. Especially cocaine, my body has feel in love with cocaine. If I do a couple grand worth of cocaine, I feel like the president of the United States. No one can touch me, no one can get on my level! That's when I get cocky, and go to bars and drink, and usually have to bail out before the cops come where I done stabbed someone or beat someone down with my bare hands. I guess what I'm trying to say is; Lord please forgive me. I want one last wish from you. When you send me to hell for this horrible sin, please hold my hand and carry me to hell. If you do not wish to do that, then please lord; hug me before you let me fall into the depths of hell and burn for all eternity. And Tess, please never do what I'm about to do. I love you to death baby. And when our kid is born, tell them everyday that I love them. Tell them that I only did this because I was a lost soul, a piece of shit, and that they should never do what I do, and if they ever get depressed to pray to me, and the Lord. Then, come talk to you. I love you. I love you with all my heart! Now I must go."
Flander grabbed the pill bottle and popped all thirty-six xanex's. He had picked thirty-six xanex's because a month before his mom had sent him away, her thirty-sixth birthday had took place, and he had baked her a huge cake with the letters thirty-six written on it with icing. When he looked up at her after he had gave her the cake, she was looking down at him smiling, and said "I love you baby boy.". That was the last time his mom had smiled at him, and the last time that she had ever said she loved him. He still did not understand why his mom shipped him off. He had always wanted to go visit her, but couldn't get the balls too. Flander was not expecting a real big affect off the pills, because he had been taking them for what seemed forever. But the affect off the pills were different. His arms grew very heavy. His head fell to his right shoulder, he couldn't move anything. He was numb from head to toe. He tried to lean forward to get the gun. When he grabbed it, he fell to the ground with the shotgun still in his hand. he let go of the shotgun and sit there, paralyzed. He saw a whole in the ceiling, somehow the gun had shot. Right above the studio was Tracy's room. He heard a huge yell "WHAT THE FUCK!" He heard footsteps coming down the steps from Tracy's room. "Shit!" "Someone grabbed Flander's arms and yanked him toward them. He heard another voice, which sounded familiar to him; it was his butler. "He's about to overdose! Look at the pill bottle and the needle! Call help! GO! GO! GODDAMMIT!" Tracy threw Flander over his shoulders and ran all the way up the huge staircase that lead to the first floor of Flander's house. He got in the elevator and pressed the garage button. He ran out the elevator. He put Flander in the backseat of his car. He got in the car, he told the butler, who was now at the door. "Call the hospital -- tell them I got someone im bringing in! Tell them they better be fucking ready!". With that being said Tracy kicked the gas down in the Camaro and flew out the garage. He slung it to the left, and then drove all the way to the hospital doing at least ninety-five all the way. He passed a cop, and before the cop could even get behind him, he hit the nos and was out of sight. When he got to the hospital, he grabbed Flander up and put him over his shoulder. He ran through the front doors of the hospital, a doctor, two nurses and a bed was waiting on him. He threw Flander on the bed; "HURRY! Get this boy some god damn help! If he dies I'm killing every motherfucker in here!" The doctor looked at him and laughed "Get this man in a room! And chill out dude, we are going to help your friend." Tracy looked at the doctor up and down. "I don't see your ass moving with them! Get in there motherfucker!". The doctor quickly turned around and caught up with them and they headed to a room. One of the nurses at the desk looked at Tracy and said; "You have to stay here while they try and save your friend." Tracy looked oddly at the nurse; "Am I even moving? I figured that, that's why I'm standing here, you smart ass bitch!", Tracy had been up two days straight, drinking five hour energies and working on his album; he was not only worried, he was angry and ill, wanting to sleep.
