She; her final story

the final thoughts and moments of a suicidal girl

She bites her lip and pushes back the curtain to turn the shower knob to hot. She steps back as the first cold droplets splatter onto her skin. She stares at the water running out of the nozzle at full blast, waiting to see the steam. She positions herself under the hot water, hot enough to turn her skin red and send shooting pain into her nerves. She relishes the feeling and closes her eyes, feeling all the dirt wash off her. She hopes that if she remains there long enough she can wash away her skin, her self, her being. She is disappointed when she finally opens her eyes and finds she’s still there. She feels tears run down her cheeks, cooler than the water that overtakes them. She turns to face the curtain and robotically shampoos her hair. She feels nothing now, empty and hollow.

Come, come and see! Look at the freeeaakkkk. See how she twists? See how she turns? How strange is she? How strange is the way her skin repels the water? Laugh at her ugly face. Laugh at her attempts to speak. Look at the freak! Cage her, whip her, trap her. See how strong she is? Abuse her, hate her, spite her. Look at the freak! Come into my striped tent, let me show you my girl. Throw peanuts at her, sneer, make faces, she can’t care! Hear her squeals, her singing screams. Pig nose, fat waist, short stature, polka-dotted face! Come, see my freeeaakkkk.

She watches the rivulets of water as the fall down the curves of her breast, over the fat of her stomach, and finally disappear into the water that swirls down the drain. She automatically reaches for the soap and washes, scrubs, tries to wash it all away. She cannot escape her own body. She bites her cheek until she feels blood.

I can withdraw from school. Find a ride home. Wait until they’re all gone. Empty the bank account. Leave behind my phone. Grab as much phone and clothes and all of my valuables I can fit in the back. Be sure to take the outdoor gear, it could come in handy. Take the keys, careful now, be sure no one is home. Strap in the seat belt. Adjust the seat. There we go. Ease out of the driveway, now… drive. Drive and drive and drive and don’t stop driving and when you run out of gas pay with cash and drive and drive and head to… where? There is no where you want to go anymore. Anything and anyone that was important is meaningless now. No more Los Angeles beaches and bars, no more Michigan hikes, no more Arizona deserts, you want none of that. No, no, no more driving. forget that plan. It’s better to just… disappear.

She finally turns the knob to stop the water. She stands there a moment to collect herself, be sure she can walk. She slowly reaches for the towel, dries each arm, buries her face in the fluff and wishes she had tears left to cry. She stands there, allowing the steam to rise off her burning skin.

His breath, her breath, the air, it intermingles. I am kissing him, no, I am kissing her, no, there is no one, only myself. His face hovers in the air in front of me and I reach out to stroke it but it changes. It is no longer him, it is every one of them, every person I have ever kissed, every person I have ever wronged, every person I have ever loved, every person I have ever wronged. “Whyyyy?” “You’re nothing.” “What were you thinking?” “You’re no one.” and their howls, they haunt me, and their whispers, they follow me, and I run and I run and I run. But It/He/They are in front of me now and his face returns to normal so I stop. “I love you,” he says, and reaches for me. I’m in his arms, and he’s going in for a kiss, but now he has these terrible teeth, too many to fit in his mouth, too long and too sharp and I’m scared but he’s holding me too tight and I’m going to die. “Love can consume you,” he says, and his jaws lock on.

She gathers her things, returns to her room, locks the door, and hits the button to play a random CD. She doesn’t hear the music that plays loudly. She doesn’t match the clothes she pulls out of the drawers and she doesn’t see them as she puts them on. She sits in the chair and stares at a blank computer screen. She turns her head and sees her phone, but the light doesn’t blink and an ice cold hand clutches her heart deep in her chest. She realizes she hid it too well, no one knows, no one is reaching out to her.

No one pays attention to her. No one will look at her, and they pretend that they can’t see the woman, screaming in the street and pulling on her hair. They will not acknowledge her presence, because doing so would mean acknowledging her problem. It is easier to label her crazy, to walk past her, avoid any contact. The police will be there soon, take care of the commotion. Meanwhile she yells and she cries, tearing out chunks of bloody hair. Tears fall down her cheeks as she pleads for someone to help her, to rid her head of the voices, to shush the impulses. The woman collapses to the ground, her sobs unheard as a sea of people separate and reconverge on the other side of her, going about their daily business.

She grabs her jacket, the one that ties with a separate cloth belt. She locks the door behind her, not bothering to grab anything else. She makes her way down the stairs and out the front door, not making eye contact with anyone around her. She turns in the direction of the woods nearby.

There is no man to live for. There are no friends that rely solely on you for their strength. There aren’t any family members relying on you to provide for them. Your classes are never going to be passed. Even if you passed them, there are no careers you can see yourself doing every day for the rest of your life. You can’t get the motivation to put forward the motivation it takes to succeed. You will never find someone you love and have a family. You won’t have beautiful children that look up into your face and make your insides burn with happiness. You have no future that you can see applying to you. you cannot imagine anything for yourself, even a year from now. There is nothing to look forward to. You will never be happy.

She doesn’t slow as she hits the woodchip trail that winds through the trees. She doesn’t hear the birds or the chattering of the squirrels. She only slows her pace when she turns off onto another trail, tears finally falling down her cheeks again. She shivers, despite the warmth in the air around her. She glances around, making sure she’s alone. She finds a tree, perfect for what she’d been planning. She unwinds her belt, slipping it off, and climbs up into the tree, higher and higher into it’s strong branches, small grunts escaping her mouth from the effort.

Death wears a mask. It has a long beak, longer yet similar to a raven. His burning eyes peer at my soul from the holes in the mask that cover the upper half of his face. The mask is  black and engraved with swirling patterns that seem to move, like smoke rising from a fire. His mouth twitches, as though he wishes to smile and bare his pointy teeth, almost catlike, but he doesn’t. He raises one hand and I take it, as a soft and haunting melody fills the space around us. We dip and spin, rock and turn, dancing to the music.

She assures the belt is as tight as necessary. She feels the wet warmth of her tears again. She takes another look around, taking a deep breath, and soaks it all in at the same moment she let’s everything out. She shakily stands on the branch, far enough from the trunk. She reaches out one foot, and steps out into nothing…