Her Contemplation of Being Gone

She wished she could end it. She wished she could end it right now.
She always wondered what it would be like, if she was gone. Would they be sad? Would they want her to come back? The ones that call themselves her "friends" always said the same thing.
"Of course they would," they said. "They're your family."
They all said it. Every single one of "her friends".
But what about them? Would they grieve her loss? Would they wish they could have done something? Would they even ask why?
Would any of them? "Family"? "Friends"? Would they?
How long would it take them to forget her? To forget that she ever existed. For the memory of her face, her smile, to fade away. For the sound of her voice to disappear. The style of her clothes, the smell of her hands, the color of her eyes... How long before they forget those? How long would it be before they don't even remember her name?
She laughed suddenly, realizing that they barely remember it now that she was here.
She looked up at her ceiling. She looked at her walls. She opened her closet and peered inside. How long would they wait before they decide that they can give away her room? How soon after she was gone would they take down her posters, donate her clothes to Goodwill, repaint her walls, give her stuffed animals away to baby cousins, stick her pictures in a shoebox and hide them away in storage?
Soon, probably, she mused.
It would be so easy, to end it all. All it took was the right equipment and the guts to actually do it. Feeling the way she did right then, she knew she had all of that.
Then she realized how much work it would really take.
There was the timing; to make sure that no one was around to stop her. The note; explaining why. The back-up plan; just in case.
She decided, no. Forget it. It was too much of a bother.
She'd rather die than kill herself, after all.