[Note on Title I feel bad for having my title in French, but to me, it is perfect. So here is the translators note: jamais quitter means "never to leave", but quitter can also mean to seperate from/get rid of someone, to cease to live, to abandon. Hopefully, as the story progresses, you'll understand why I chose this.]
March 2009
I failed. Something went wrong. I’m still breathing.
Aline forced her eyes to stay shut. She didn’t want to open them and see that the world was still around her. She had expected to see blankness, or maybe the bright lights you hear people talking about. Maybe there would be little devils, or Dante, or nothing. Pure, awe-inspiring lack of all.
Instead, Aline could hear the nurses in the hallway gossiping. She could hear the machines next to her, as if they really needed to know what her heart was doing. She had slit her wrists – not have open heart surgery.
Her fingers were curled up into her palms. She tried not to move them because that would be admitting she was still alive. They moved on their own; a reflex. Aline decided it wouldn’t hurt to feel around, but she still didn’t need to open her eyes.
The sheets felt like pieces of thin cardboard. She imagined herself lying with torn boxes on top of her, like a homeless person. It would have been amusing, had she not really been in the hospital bed.
The room didn’t smell like anything. She thought hard about it. The room – it should smell like something, shouldn’t it? Hospitals always have a smell. The idiots in Creative Writing are always saying, “it smelled like a hospital” when they’ve probably never been in one. This hospital, Aline reflected, smelt like nothing. Maybe that was the smell of death.
Aline squeezed her eyelids together. They wanted to open. Her eyes hungered to see what time of day it was, if there were flowers from her parents, or maybe they were sleeping in the corner, or was there a nurse watching her? She was probably on suicide watch now.
More than anything, her eyes wanted to open up because they felt crusty.
A few blinks later, the room came into focus. First, Aline only saw the ceiling. She didn’t feel like moving her head. The ceiling was ugly; she hated it immediately. It had stains in the corner and those old speckled panels like a middle school. She tried to see the rest of the room without moving her head. A tiny sliver of light was seeping through the blinds. It must be daytime.
No flowers. Good. No nurse guarding her like she’s a nutcase. Even better.
Sometime later, a man came into the room. Aline continued to refuse her existence, and as such, didn’t move in response to his entrance.
The man pushed a chair up to her bed and sat in it. His eyes were deep in his skull and his skin looked like bread crust, both in color and texture. A tag hung on the pocket of his shirt:
PSYCHOLOGIST.
Aline pretended he didn’t exist either.
“Hello, Ms. Gordon, my name is Manfried Schaffer. I have some questions I would like to ask you. Would that be alright?”
Something about the way he spoke was peculiar. Aline wasn’t certain what it was; too tired to pay that much attention. She nodded to the man, even though she would have preferred he go away. He would have only come back later, she reminded herself, and one can only play dead for so long.
“I spoke with your roommate, Savannah. She was the one who found you. She found your license for us; I see you’re 21? I wanted to ask…” Manfried stared at his charts for a moment. “Would you like that I call your parents, to tell them of your…accident?”
Aline laughed in her head. That’s why there were no flowers.
Since Aline hadn’t replied, Manfried repeated his question. She shook her head – no, don’t call them. They’ll only make a fuss.
“Alright then,” he said, looking at the charts. “Now I’m going to ask you some questions regarding what happened. Please understand this is so that we can determine your current state of health and whether it would benefit you to stay in the hospital for a few more days. It would be to your advantage to answer honestly.”
He has a German accent. That’s why he sounds strange.
Manfried cleared his throat. “Now, the doctors told me you had cut your wrists in an effort to commit suicide. Could you tell me how you planned this?”
Aline wondered if she was physically capable of speech. She opened her mouth and tried.
“I decided—”
Aline’s hand flinched out and smacked the air, then covered her lips. The sound of her voice surprised her.
It was then she noticed the gauze wrapped around her wrists.
Lowering her hand back to her side, she ignored the wound and opened her mouth again. “I decided to lie in the bath tub and cut my wrists.”
Manfried nodded a few times. “When had you decided this?”
“A few minutes beforehand.”
He had probably expected something else, Aline knew. I had planned it for months, tried several times, then given up, but finally…! No, it wasn’t like that with her.
The pen scratched on paper in a way that tickled Aline’s brain. It sounded wrong, like it shouldn’t belong in this room. It was the only sound apart from the machines, and even though it was so silent, she heard it clearly.
She was glad when he stopped writing and asked another question.
“What did you think would be the outcome of doing this?”
No point in lying. “I would be dead,” she replied.
“What thoughts preceded this decision? Why had you made this decision?”
Aline knew he would ask this, though she hoped he wouldn’t. Her fingers curled into the cardboard-stiff sheet, squeezing her nails into her palm. Excuses, excuses, excuses.
She twisted her neck so she was looking at Manfried, but her face was into the pillow. “I was bored,” she mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“I was bored,” Aline repeated, spitting the words out like an insult.
Manfried looked up from his notes. He stared at Aline; his eyes were darker than his skin, almost black. Aline felt penetrated.
“What were you bored with?”
The question was simple enough. It even made sense to ask that next. The way in which he asked it, however, put Aline off guard. He asked it not as a doctor, but as a person with true curiosity.
“Bored of living.”
The machines made a strange noise and Manfried went back to writing notes about Aline’s mental condition.
She didn’t care what he was writing. Either way, Aline wanted to get out of the hospital.
He asked another question, but she preoccupied herself with her bandages. They were white tapes of fabric laced several times around her wrists. A few layers under, she knew there was a long, red cut across each wrist. Maybe they had stitched her up, too. In a month’s time, they would only be scars.
In a month’s time. Would Aline still be alive in a month’s time?
Since this work is well over a year old, and people want to review, I'm going to lock it. There are a few other pieces posted (look through my portfolio) if you want to read them but please do not review them. PM me if you want to comment on something. I do not need reviews on this anymore, but thank you. 
Hello!
I have nothing negative to offer. I absolutely loved it. Every time you wanted to put information in, you didn't actually force it on us, it didn't sound like she was describing this to someone, it sounded like she was quietly thinking over what happened, and certain details just slipped out and filled in the gaps for us. I actually really liked that.
So, I'd just like to ask you to PM me when you post more, simply because I love it! Awesome! Great Job!
WOW! This was well done for sure. I mean I really connected with Aline's struggle in many ways. And as far as living lolz. Like Aline said "Bored of Living". No I am not referring to suicide for myself but more on the emotional level. The world has very little creativity anymore...
so boring or 'normal' could give this feeling quite the notch.
Bravo!
Merci Beaucoup
Hey Tillychan!
Okay, so normally I would bark about the title, but I think it's perfect--even to a person who doesn't speak French/thinks that French sounds pretentious when you use it in English stuff. A person who can't read French will probably read the title as something along the lines of "I am a quitter", which is totally apt when talking about suicide or something else--it looks darkly sarcastic. J'adore.
Just a few things I picked up on:
-- Your sentences sound really really choppy at the beginning. It gets a lot better as you go along, but at the beginning--like in the beginning of a play or a speech or whatnot--you want to really showcase flow in the first paragraph or so, because it gets the ball rolling. It builds up momentum. So let's look at a sample paragraph, shall we? (Of course, this is how I would do it, so you don't have to copy me if it sucks.)
Aline forced her eyes to stay shut. She didn’t want to open them and see that the world was still around her, rather than the expected blackness, or maybe the bright lights you hear people talking about. Maybe there would be little devils, or Dante, or nothing. Pure, awe-inspiring lack of all.
Instead, Aline could hear the nurses in the hallway gossiping. She could hear the machines next to her, as if they really needed to know what her heart was doing. She had slit her wrists – she hadn't had open heart surgery.
The idiots in Creative Writing are always saying, “it smelled like a hospital” when they’ve probably never been in one.
Suz! ^_^
I'm a bit rusty, so forgive me. I'll pull out only a couple nitpicks and then get into my thoughts on your wonderful piece here. ^_^
No flowers. Good. No nurse guarding her like she’s a nutcase. Even better.
I've been thinking about this all day, and I only read it last night.
I respect your style of writing for several reasons.
Firstly, you're using a female protagonist. This might not seem like a big step for you, but personally, I can't seem to do it. I find writing from the point of view of my own sex too intrusive somehow. It's a weakness in my writing that I can't help but seem to project my own feelings onto my own work. You seem to have taken a different approach to writing that we are both given an outsider's and an insider's view into Aline's situation. It's good also because I haven't read a lot of good stories with these types of serious issues in them. Just to pick up on something Jared mentioned, remember what kind of writer you are- a good one. With no nonsense. So don't let Aline get to angsty on us, no?
The sheets felt like pieces of thin cardboard
She imagined herself lying with torn boxes on top of her, like a homeless person. It would have been amusing, had she not really been in the hospital bed.
“I was bored,” Aline repeated, spitting the words out like an insult.
“I was bored,” she spat.
Suzanne,
I liked this. I'm not crazy about it, but I'm liking it so far. I hope it will be something more than a cutter story. Angsty stories tend to be kinda lame. Not that this one is; in fact, I think that if you keep writing this, you can actually make it into something really great. I really like to read your work, Suzanne. I think you are a wonderful author, and even better! You're a wonderful person, and that's what counts. Erm... yeah. Cheesy. Anyhow!
I felt that this could use a little bit more pain. Make us cry in agony. I'm not feeling the pain that the MC is feeling right now. Or if she is feeling any pain. I don't quite know, because you haven't given us too many details about her current physical state, besides there are cuts on her wrists. I would very much like to see some pain going on here.
Also, I feel that this is happening to fast! It's bad when a story is racing too fast, because we can't spend time with the characters and get to know and love them, which is what I want to do with this story, because it's really good so far. So! Let us spend some more time with her and the doctor. Which means post the next chapter like, um, NOW.
Yes. Very well done, Suzanne. I look forward to the next installment.
-Jared
Thanks Pen!!
I've put up the edited version now. Here's a few comments on stuff you said, too, pen:
"She had slit her wrists – not have open heart surgery." - I know this looks really weird, and I'm not certain I could find any explanation online because I don't know what type of structure this is, it's more of a speaking thing. Maybe I just know it wrong, but putting had in there sounds funny to me. I'm thinking, and this is just a guess, that the reason it's "have" is because it's acting as an split infinitive there... which is technically grammatically illegal, but! Of course if someone else complains of this I'll change it. ^_~
You also asked about the thoughts, and the present tense and past tense goofs. The present tense are her thoughts, and no, they're not in italics because I didn't want them to be. The only thought that is in italics is at the beginning, for stylistic reasons. Her thoughts flow throughout the piece, and aren't like dialogue, interspersed. Since I'm doing third person with a filter (it's how I call it, hehe) this works for me. I realize that switch is annoying, but it wouldn't be if I put it in italics? Italics for thoughts is, really, a stylistic thing. But, again, if someone else complains I'll probably change it! ^_^
I may or may not be posting chapter two tonight.
Bonjour, Suzanne!
Je suis en d'accord avec Angel of Death. J'adore ce aussi. Francais est tres belle, plus belle que anglais! 
All language comments aside, I did enjoy this. Just some little nit-picks:
“I had a near death experience, my aunt was there too.”
She had slit her wrists – not have open heart surgery.
She thought hard about it. The room – it should smell like something, shouldn’t it? Hospitals always had a smell. The idiots in Creative Writing were always saying, “it smelled like a hospital” when they’ve probably never been in one. This hospital, Aline reflected, smelled like nothing. Maybe that was the smell of death: lack of all.
His eyes were deep in his skull
He has a German accent. That’s why he sounds strange.
“A few minutes before hand.”
Aline knew he would ask this, though she hoped he wouldn’t.
“I was bored,”
a long, read cut across each wrist
Merci touts! You guys make me happy. Thanks so much for the crits 'n' compliments. I'll redo this in the places mentioned and then post it back up. Again, thanks so much, and if anyone has something they'd like looked at in return, just poke me!
[Stali: I ♥ you!]
Suzer! Yes, yes -- the posting, I like it! By the way, you are coming across as quite stylish, darling -- the orange title goes nicely with the red hair in your avatar and the collection of red-orange stars. You are warm color coded!
---
Pertaining to the title, I know you're apologetic because of the French, but I really like this one! I know you've changed it -- I think the one you told me before was different from this one (I'm bad at remembering non-English phrases hehe, but I'm almost positive it's different). It lures me in anyway, because quitter is an English word that does catch the attention, and the French adds an air of intrigue to it. Overall, it comes across as classy due to its mix of familiar and non-familiar wording (and French looks sexy and mysterious 
).
---
I failed. Something went wrong. I’m still breathing.
She had expected to see blankness, or maybe the bright lights you hear people talking about. “I had a near death experience, my aunt was there too.”
Maybe there would be little devils, or Dante, or nothing. Pure, awe-inspiring lack of all.
They moved on their own; a reflex. Aline decided it wouldn’t hurt to feel around, but she still didn’t need to open her eyes.
Maybe that was the smell of death. Lack of all.
It had stains in the corner and those old speckled panels like a middle school. She tried to see the rest of the room without moving her head.
The man pushed a chair up to her bed and sat in it. His eyes were deep in his skull and his skin looked like bread crust, both in color and texture. A tag hung on the pocket of his shirt:
PSYCHOLOGIST.
Aline pretended he didn’t exist.
“I spoke with your roommate, Savannah. She was the one who found you.
Lowering her hand back to her side, she ignored the wound and opened her mouth again. “I decided to lie in the bath tub and cut my wrists.”
In a month’s time. Would Aline still be alive in a month’s time?
Hey alice, I liked this peice pretty good! Only a few things that I thought were a bit out of place, if you know what I mean.
I actually think hospitals are like the movies or restraunts, alot of people go there, and thats besides the fact were all born in one. So after saying that about those 'ediots' it got me not liking alice very much. I mean and then whwos the one who cant even kill herself? I think we all know youre supposed to cut vertically. Also, she must really want to die if shes denying the fact shes in a hospital for like an hour after coming to. But I guess this is all part of the character, even though I didnt like her too much, I enjoyed the story!The idiots in Creative Writing are always saying, “it smelled like a hospital” when they’ve probably never been in one.
Hi I'm Matt. I really liked it, it had a lot of mystery and emotion, all powdered up with angery, painful misery. I did find two little nit picks that haven't been pointed out, though.
She had slit her wrists – not have open heart surgery.
Would Aline still be alive in a month’s time?
Bonjour Suze!
J'ai adoré ce!
Aline seems like a great character and I like how she thinks.
I only found two things to nit-pick
Aline forced her eyes to stay shut. She didn’t want to open them and see that the world was still around her. She had expected to see blankness, or maybe the bright lights you hear people talking about. “I had a near death experience, my aunt was there too.” Maybe there would be little devils, or Dante, or nothing.
A few layers under, she knew, was a long, read cut across each wrist.
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