"I wish I could stop the void you're feeling, now that I'm
gone. I'm that now, feeling your void."

Those were the words written on the piece of paper that was
slipped beneath my door. I quickly opened the door; I was in
time to hear the dying echo of footsteps in the stairway. I
ran downstairs and out in to the street; though outside
walked many people and it could have been anyone so I went
back to my apartment.
I chuckled when I saw that in my haste I had left the door
to my apartment wide opened. I stepped inside, looking down
at the piece of paper. I had not lost anyone close in the
past few years and I currently felt no void. I had felt
various voids in my life, though at that time I didn't.
I was puzzled over how the writing in the letter resembled
my own and that it was written in a strange form, like
something that reached its climax, then sunk down though
didn't return as low as its starting point.
I closed the door with my heel and felt rustling behind me,
though just as I was about to turn around I suddenly felt
the cold, smooth, shocking feeling of steel being pressed to
the side of my head. My brain had time to interpret that
this was a gun before it exploded and I died.

The police concluded that it was a suicide. A man found in
his own apartment, killed himself with his own gun and in
his hand - a suicide letter.