Cried For A Lost Beauty

It's difficult to see into the eyes of pain.

She sits in her room. Looking side, to side. All the things on her walls, now blurry through the tears streaming as rapids from her eyes.

She takes a deep breath. And another one. Not slow, and lengthy. But gasping, and stuttered. Her lungs clasp onto any glimpse of air that they can get. The tears come harder, like heavy rain through a thunderstorm. Another glance around her room.

She wipes the salty pain from her eyes. Now the world around her is just a tad bit clearer. Staring at the wall closest to her, on her left, she sees a picture of her when she was little. Beside it, a picture with her now deceased father. He left this world long before, when she was just a little girl. She didn’t even understand death, and he was gone. Not on his own accord, of course. He would have chosen anything but to leave his little girl.

After a lingering look at that one picture, she looked at all the others. A ticket stub from her first date. A candle from her favorite birthday, pictures she drew of the people she loved. All of them made more and more tears swell in her eyes.

Trying to get her mind off of the painful memories, she looked to her lap. A blank paper. Beside it, a pen in her hand. She began to write:

To Whom It May Concern:

“No, too formal,” she thought.

Dear friends and family,

“No… Seems a bit too impersonal.”

Again, and again she tried. Greeting after greeting she tried. Nothing seemed to fit. Finally, she wrote one. No greeting, no beginning. Just said what she had been trying to say the entire time.

Good-bye.

She was found a few days later. Someone, a neighbor of hers, walking by her lone apartment had realized that newspapers had been piling up. No one had come in or out of the place in a while. Or at least long enough to cause suspicion. They knocked, once. Twice. Three times.

No answer, of course. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t hear the knocks. She couldn’t get up to answer the door. But the unsuspecting neighbor didn’t know that. After a few minutes of silence, they went to the superintendent. They asked for the key to her place out of worry. They got it, after telling about their curiosity that she had not been seen, and they returned to the door.

The key slid in and the door hissed as it unlocked. The creak as the door became ajar echoed throughout the dark apartment. The neighbor stepped in. He took one look around. It was quiet,

“Almost too quiet,” he thought to himself. Cheesy, but honestly true.

Another few steps in let him see that there was not a single light on. There were only two rooms in these apartments. The kitchen and living room were one, and behind them was the bedroom. Next to that was the bathroom. All the doors to the rooms were visible from the living room, which gave him easy sight into each one.

He found the light switch and turned it on. The apartment looked pretty normal. Nothing hectic

had gone on the last few days. The dishes were in the sink, like any normal college student. Or at least so he thought. The man hadn’t been in college for many years, but he doubted that dishes in a sink were any great cause for worry.

He looked around, and everything seemed perfectly in its place. Until he noticed something underneath the bedroom door.

Blood. Blood was seeping out from the door. He gasped and his entire body froze.

Millions of thoughts raced through his head, and he tried not to let any of them in. Too late.

“Was she murdered? Is there someone in the room? Was this fresh or had it been a while? Do I have to go in…?” His inner compass told him he had to. He tried to protest but he knew it was the right thing.

One foot in front of the other. And another. And another… He got closer. He reached the door. Careful not to step in the blood, he opened the door.

There she was. Laying against the door. When he pulled it fully open, her body slumped against his legs, causing him to jump and scream and scream he would never want to hear again. And would never want to tell another male that he could make such a feminine noise.

“She’s dead..” He said out loud, but then realized he was talking to nothing.

Almost by instinct he decided to go to her side to figure out what happened. It was almost obvious, but he wanted to investigate.

A shot to the head. He was surprised that no one heard. He thought about the time he heard people having loud sex in the apartment next to his. It must have been a quiet gun, …or really good sex.

Then he noticed a note tightly tucked in her now hard, cold hand. He shuddered, but pulled it out. It was crumpled up, and he pulled it open neatly.

He began to read:

“I guess I don’t know what to say. I’ve been trying to find the words, but I don’t think there is any,” Are. He silently corrected in his head. Then he realized, and his heart went heavy. He felt terrible. And then he continued, “I just have to say I’m sorry. It was honestly no one’s fault. It’s my own. I never took ahold of my life. But it’s too late now. I hope this goes to show people that you should reach out every once in a while. Not that it could have done any good with me, but with anyone. People could be saved who are in my exact same situation. Please, just head my warning: anyone is susceptible to this. Anyone can go to this place. So never think someone is “just okay.” Take the next step and talk to them. At least once. Pay them a compliment. Tell them anything. Ask them about themselves. Anything.

“But that’s enough about what people should do. It won’t help this situation. I guess I should go into my reasons now. Well, ever since I was little I was harassed,”

He was surprised that he was learning more about her in this letter than he ever did living a few doors down from her. It made his whole body feel cold. He would always regret it.

“In elementary school, I had but one friend. Just one. Everyone else seemed to hate me. Or maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. In middle school, Oh god. Middle school. That was the worst part of my life. I never really worked on my looks and that affected me strongly. Boys called me named, girls would laugh at me. I would be called ‘Monkey face’ and other hurtful things. It always carried with me I guess. Until this day, or whatever day I am found, I have worried about the way I carried myself. The way I looked to others around me. Disapproval of just one mind would set me off.

Then, my first year of high school. I got my first boyfriend. He was such a sweet heart to me. I fell head over heels. Then he raped me. I said no, and that didn’t make a difference to him.

Am I sharing too much? Oh, I don’t care. Not like I can do anything about it anymore. I guess this is just where I’m going to tell all my secrets. Anyway…

After that, I guess I became hard on the inside. He did it again. And again. It got worse each time. Then when I finally decided to fight back, so did he. He hit me once and I backed off. For a bit. When I tried fighting back, he did as well. But this time he came prepared. He would hit me with any blunt object you could think of. I was still a rock on the inside. I wouldn’t let a single emotion out. I was too scared. And for the rest of my life I would be scared. Any boyfriend I had after that would be too annoyed with my constant jumping from small noises, my inability to perform sexual tasks. I would try so hard, but that wasn’t enough. Man after man, I became weaker.

I lost trust in everyone that grazed my life. I never let a single person in. Never let a single personal thought out. And eventually, people began to leave. They couldn’t deal with a girl who was such a downer. A girl that would never smile. A girl like me.

So that brings us to this. This is how it happened. That’s all I needed to say. I’m so sorry, but I don’t believe an apology will do much. But I doubt many will care. Maybe some will. Undoubtedly some will.

Well. I’m out of words. Good-bye. I’ve loved, lost, and lived. Too long, in my opinion.

Signed,

Pipa Maradoe”

And it was over. The neighbor dropped the letter. Speechless that so much pain could be in such an innocent looking girl. His shaking hands took ahold of hers. Of one of hers. It was cold, and hard. He sat there next to her for hours, and cried. Cried for the lost beauty.

The End.

Author's Note

If some parts seem a little weirdly worded, I apologize. I only went over it once before I posted it.

Reviews

[Celeste]

This is just beautiful. I love how were able to depict the message through the plot. Showing the girl's story from her letter made it all the more dramatic. Thinking about the people of today, it's sad how this story might also be the reality for some people.

I especially loved this part:
Again, and again she tried. Greeting after greeting she tried. Nothing seemed to fit. Finally, she wrote one. No greeting, no beginning. Just said what she had been trying to say the entire time.
Good-bye.
^That part seemed to stick to me throughout the whole story.

Great message, great story. Wonderful job.

Keep writing!

[Jason van Dongen]

You are talented at telling good stories. I read your story through before I read the 'Author's Note'. I was astonished to read that you only went over it once.

I think the passage in which you have the neighbour read the letter would benefit from being broken up into paragraphs. Although it is a note, it is still a story being unfolded and the long passage gives the reader the impression that the story is unfolding really slowly. At least, that was my impression. I think the mental correction the neighbour makes when he starts reading the letter was clever. I would not have complained if I had seen more of him in the passage with the letter...

A really effective bit of writing...

[.Because.I.Said.So.]

Great story, and I didn't think it was 'weirdly worded'. It was beautiful. And sad. I loved it.

[that-little-green-monst..]

This read was tragically beautiful if that makes any sense. It's such a hard thought, for anyone, no matter what past they had (because your character had a hard one) to think that nobody cares. This read almost brought me to tears. Great job.