The Suicide Room

*Narrator's POV*

Frank Iero was a small boy from the small town of Belleville, New Jersey. In the life he'd lived, he was a quiet person, with few friends. He liked to be alone most of the time, and at one point hadn't spoken for five years. He listened to punk-rock music, and had been in a band, until he'd left because everyone else involved started getting arrested for doing drugs. In the last few years of his life, Frank didn't go to school or his therapist, and stayed in an empty house since his parents had died, leaving him alone, until he'd committed suicide, not knowing what else would be in store for him.
Now, he was with millions of other kids that had committed suicide, ready to be categorized into his suicide room, where there would be other kids who were more like him, leading as a sort of therapy for him until he seemed fit to go back for another chance on life.
Now it was his turn to stand before the judge that overlooked all the suicide rooms, and be thrown into a room with a bunch of other kids he'd be forced to live with.
He was shoved into a room with the judge by one of the guards who stood watch by the door, which was apparently to make his categorization more private, so that no one else would be influenced to answer the questions judge asked the same as he did.
The room Frank was now in was very tall, with a huge glass chandelier hanging in the middle. Now the center ran a long, silver carpet, which barely was any different from the white floors. At the other end of the carpet from Frank stood the judge on a tall, stool-like thing, dressed in normal, everyday clothes, and was almost look-alike to Frank, with skinny jeans and a plain t-shirt. On either side of the carpet sat rows of chairs with people holding notepads, probably to write down his answers.
"Well, don't just stand there!" The judge called from the front of the room, slightly startling Frank. "Come on, get up here!"
Frank didn't know exactly where 'here' was, so he just kinda quickly shuffled up the carpet until he was standing in front of, or more like under, the judge.
"Okay. Name?"
"Frank Iero." He answered quietly, and was very surprised when every person in the chairs started to scribble on their papers.
"Date of birth?"
"October 31st, 2001." He answered simply (I know that's not the real DOB exactly, but it's for the story...) and yet again every person in the room started to scribble on their paper.
"Okay Frank. So, why did you commit suicide?"
"How'd you know I committed suicide?" Frank answered quietly.
"Everyone here is a victim of suicide. That's why you are going to be sorted into a suicide room, with people like you who also were victims of suicide. If you weren't a victim of suicide, you'd be in an old age room, or a murder room, but you're here so just answer the question. Why did you commit suicide?"
"Well, I was alone. No one was there for me. And it's not like I was just depressed. I lived in an empty house, without parents and nobody visited me. I really was alone with my thoughts for three years. And when you're alone, is when your thoughts are the loudest, so I guess I just couldn't handle it anymore." This time, only about three-fourths of the people started to scribble on their paper, which also sort of surprised Frank.
"Yes, now, what did you do because of this?"
"Well I commit suicide."
"No shit Sherlock. Like how did you commit suicide. Was there a note? Did you go out quietly in your empty house, or make a scene of it? What actually happened?"
"Well," Frank started, "I kinda just..." and that's when he broke down in tears. Frank Iero was not a man to cry. He was always a silent sufferer. Even alone, he didn't cry. But now here he was, crying, in front of many, many people. "I don't know what I was thinking. I should have gone out more, and met someone to help me, but I had no energy to do that. My brain took all my energy, so I wrote a quick goodbye to anyone who found it, slid it in my pocket, and jumped out my apartment window into traffic. i thought that that was the only way that there would be no saving me. And I was right. Horribly, horribly right." And so he broke down again.
This time Frank didn't notice that only one person had started to solemnly write a few lines into their notebook, declaring the room Frank was to be in.
"This is good Frank. We have found you your room, and many other people who are like you, and should be good to you." The judge declared from his pedestal. He waved a guard towards him, whispering something into his ear. Frank straightened himself up, feeling slightly better from getting everything off of his chest, and wiped a stray tear off of his cheek, allowing himself to be led away to what he figured was his room.

Notes

Sorry if this story is triggering for anyone. I thought that the idea was good, and I really will try to update regularly on this. So, for all of my beautiful people who have thought that I was dead or something from my lack of updates on the other books of mine, I just felt like they were dead (no pun intended). But this one will be updated, and I'm thinking of starting another. So yeah.
Does anyone even like the idea though? I mean I thought it was a pretty good idea but that's just me...
frank.is.love.frank.is.life