Chapter One (The End)

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

          Elizabeth slammed the door behind her and nearly tripped over Tinker Bell, her eleven year old cat who was notorious for mischief. Elizabeth hadn’t even seen her (despite the feline’s bushy gray fur that stood up like static to a balloon and her orange moon eyes with a chalky rub of black) because of the massacre that had mixed into fresh tears and stung her blue, opaque eyes. Just like she hadn’t noticed Tinker Bell, she didn’t notice the tears that were smoky from the massacre residue, blotting her marble skin, and nor did she notice her fuzzy-pink-sweater mother in the den, typing daintily with her six dollar French tips at a ancient computer that buzzed like static and sounded like more like a groan for death rather than a struggle to keep up. A little grunt came from her pastry, thin lips that meant “Hello, Elizabeth! How was your day?”. Never the less, Elizabeth would not reply. Elizabeth’s steps were quiet like the pat of an escaped water drop from a leaky faucet. Her worn tennis shoes didn’t even leave a soft dent in the evergreen carpet as she ghostly walked to her room. Tears slithered, slyly across her slender cheekbones and tucked under her chin. Her emotions had gotten the best of her; all the emotions that had cluttered, crammed, and crashed into her mind had been shot by a single eventful bullet. The shattered mind bled a poisonous blood that painted and masked the mind and all thoughts. The poison managed to reach and seep into the heart. Her heart with no eyes could not see the poison it had taken and the piteous fate after the last drop.

          Elizabeth stumbled into her unkempt room and searched mindlessly through the clutter until her nimble hand sheathed a deceivingly, small blade that reflected back Elizabeth’s face; her bony cheeks were pale as death and been robbed of the blush of a cherry blossom. Her silk, dirt blond hair was frizzy and kept in a braid. Her lips were small ,yet plump like a pouting child,  but now quivered  in the presence of the blade.

           Her breath was cut off as she hurriedly strode to the bathroom, carefully closing the door and watched her life be cut off by it. The cheerful clownfish soap dispenser couldn’t cheer her up. She sat on the toilet seat that was covered with a frilly lid cover. The bathroom was silent for once, normally there was the crackling of a dying light bulb or the toilet was gurgling and even the sound of the of the breeze whooshing out of the window over the shower was absent. Silence laid on Elizabeth like an unsettling mist; second thoughts were catching up, slowly resurfacing.

“No, I’m done thinking this over” she said with a wobbly voice, her head bleating for air. She thrust the sleeve of her jacket past her elbow, her snowy skin traced by bluish veins. The razor now felt heavy in her hand and felt like an acidic flame on her fingertips as she placed it over a slightly bulging vein under her wrist. The effect of the poison to her heart was taking its toll. With the clench of her eyes and stopped breath, she sliced the vein and waited for her life to dribble out.