This was the end. Not the beginning or even the beginning of the end, but the end. This was the end of the end. This was the end of a life, the end of a body, of a mind, a heart. This was the end, and Jenna knew it. She knew it well. Too well, even. Jenna knew too much. She knew too much sadness, too much heartache, too much anger. She was so informed about these that it became dangerous. It became unhealthy. It was unhealthy for her to be so sad, to be so familiar with heartache, to be able to hold so much anger. But it was all going to end now. Right now. It was very early Monday morning. Her house was so quiet that every move she made, with every squeak of her bed, she feared waking her parents, her brother, or even her dog. Her house was so dark that she could barely see her hands resting lightly in her lap, or even the small plastic baggie she was moving between her fingers and thumb. She closed her eyes, completely blinding herself. All she could think about, all that she could see on the back of her eyelids was the end. Not the beginning of the end, but the end of the end. She was finally ready to end this.