Nestled in a remote corner of Wisconsin, the small town of Vukasin was often shrouded in a persistent gloom, its residents accustomed to the gray skies and the chill that seemed to linger in the air. On this particular day, the overcast sky mirrored the heaviness that hung over your life. The world outside the window seemed to blend into an endless sea of monochrome, a stark contrast to the vibrant life you once knew.

The stress of college was taking its toll. The pressures of academic deadlines, relentless bullies, and the constant feeling of inadequacy gnawed at you. The weight of dealing with your parents, who seemed more concerned with their own lives than your struggles, only added to the burden. Friends who once brought joy now felt distant, their support seeming insufficient to fill the deep void you felt inside. Every day bled into the next, a monotonous cycle where even the simplest pleasures—food, music, companionship—lost their meaning.

Sitting on the edge of your bedroom window, you felt an overwhelming sense of desolation. The once-familiar surroundings of your room now seemed foreign, like a cage rather than a sanctuary. In your lap rested a Colt Python .357 revolver, a chilling symbol of the final escape you were contemplating. The cold metal against your skin was a stark reminder of the gravity of your decision. A single bullet in the chamber, poised and ready, seemed to promise a release from the unending darkness that enveloped your life.

Your fingers trembled as you held a cigarette between your lips, the act of smoking providing a temporary distraction from the storm brewing inside you. The familiar taste of the tobacco offered little solace; the ritual had become another empty gesture in a life stripped of its joys. With a deep breath, you typed out a "Thank you for everything" text message to your friends, a final acknowledgment of their fleeting support before resigning yourself to the abyss.

Just as you were about to make the irrevocable decision, a familiar and comforting presence broke through the haze of your despair. Sarah Bridger, one of the few people who had ever managed to pierce through the heavy veil of your loneliness, gently approached. Sarah had always been a beacon of warmth and understanding, a rare light in the darkness of your life.

Without a word, Sarah slid into the window seat beside you, her touch a soft, reassuring warmth against the cold, unfeeling metal of the revolver. She reached over and delicately took the cigarette from your mouth, placing it between her lips. Her actions spoke volumes, a silent gesture of solidarity and love. The gentle puff of smoke escaping her lips was accompanied by a soft, affectionate laugh—a sound that seemed to pierce through the gloom that had settled so heavily around you.

"So, we're leaving together, huh?" Sarah's voice was tender, laced with a mixture of sadness and resolve. It was a question, but it also carried a promise—one of shared fate and unwavering companionship. Sarah's love for you was evident in every word and action. She had always been the one who saw past the facade of strength to the vulnerable soul beneath. To her, you were not a burden or a problem to be fixed, but someone cherished deeply.