Untitled

Short Story

As I watch my wounds drip from the freshly ripened cuts on my wrists I know this is it, it's the last thing I will ever do, maybe the best thing I have ever done. Like a freshly fed vampire I long for more, to watch that beautiful red puddle of my own blood widen. Yet I can't as I find myself almost in a daze grabbing out for the noose secured above the chair which I find myself balancing on, blinded by my own tears. In this moment I think of everything I ever done wrong, all the mistakes I made, how I should have been strong enough but I wasn't so there's nothing left.
I look through the keyhole of the old abandoned room. A room which had been left empty and bare for centuries. It's the only sight I've seen for the last five months, five long, lonely months. Do you know what it feels like to feel as if you are not wanted, as if you have nobody in the world that cares about you? Well, I do. I feel as if I may rot away into the cracks on the wall or disintegrate like the small grains of sand that once lay freely on this land, well maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea after all since all I have ever known is gone. This is my home now, this large chilling room. The room has brick walls which appear to fit in to the Victorian era. This place is anything but welcoming. I don't receive a lot of food but I'm getting used to it. You may have a lot of questions right now but unfortunately I cannot answer any. I can say though,my name is Jemma Woods and this is my story, a story which needs to be told as this may be my last chance to do so.
The first month here was the worst. All I could do was sit here and wait, wait for something to happen, someone to come, but nobody ever does. I've always admired the arts and even here it can bring me some joy. I found the paints under the door, near the slot my food is normally passed through, it was like my prayers were answered. I moved here after my mother's tragic death. It was a death that broke my heart. The landowner of this house, according to the maid is of relation to me. I can’t believe someone of relation to me would leave me here. I wish I wasn’t here, I wish someone had stopped the car rolling away from court, I also wish I knew where here is. Some times I try to picture the World but all I can picture is this God forsaken place. I can picture this large stone building with an empty garden and huge bolted window shutters. The maid, is the only human contact I’ve made since coming here, she slips the food through the slot and makes a sharp exit, I wouldn’t call her a chatterbox anyway. All I long for is to hear a human voice, to converse and feel normal again, something so simple yet so essential to my sanity. The door is never open but the keyhole is big enough to peer through, it's maybe the last sight I'll ever see. The sight is not so glamorous though, a large hollow empty landing with wood beams. It has little light but more than my room, or should I say my prison. I like to sit and look out the keyhole sometimes and hope to see or hear something, but I never do. There's a peculiar plaque above the keyhole, I don't understand it but it says my name. Does this mean there are other people here? I can't pronounce it but it says S-C-H-I-Z-O-P-H-R-E-N-I-A. What have I done to deserve this? I was a quiet girl, I didn't annoy anybody. Keeping to myself was what I was best at but now I don't want to keep to myself, now I want friends and I really want my mum, but I know I will never see her again, though I suppose there is one way. It is so frightening here, I don't know anybody or anything. I don’t even think I remember the outside world. It's like being taken out of your life into your nightmares. I keep telling myself to keep strong as my mother would have wanted me to. The thing I miss the most about the real world is the sun, how I long for their to be a light at the end of the tunnel. When I was younger I used to try and paint the sun but I finally realised the sun is too far away to see.

My mother died in our house and as expected I got the blame for Grims actions. I wasn't powerful enough to stop him, it wasn't my fault. He never liked mum and we never knew why. The police would have taken me but my mum wouldn’t have wanted that so I am here, locked up in my prison. There are things that are going on in this world that you don’t understand, things which may be described as inhuman. Whether these things are here to hurt us or help us I am unsure but my mother drew the short straw. You may be reading this and thinking another ghost story.
I was told I was crazy, that I could no longer live in this world as I would hurt people but I know the truth. This devastated me and people don’t understand that I loved my mother very much and I never wanted anything to happen to her. I looked after her most of her life and cherished ever second of the time we had together. She couldn’t walk properly so I had to help her do a lot of everyday tasks. I enjoyed this as most other teenagers don’t get to spend as much time as this with their mother, I felt special. I draw my mother sometimes. I draw her with a pretty red background because she looked good in red. I sometimes draw her with Grim. Grim is my best friend but he likes to hurt people. I don’t know why he wants to hurt people but he does and I can’t stop him. I don’t have enough strength. You may be confused so I shall explain, Grim lives inside of me, he is part of me. I try to fight him but sometimes he takes over and bad things happen. Ordinary people will not understand this but I have done no wrong. That is me done for tonight as Grim and I need some sleep. Goodbye journal.

I always had a fascination with dead and I always knew my time would come but never did I think it would happen like this.

Author's Note

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