Mindlocked

When the pain is too much, let it win. When the prison bars are too strong, let them hold you.

“Hey look. The little emo geek.” Her voice rang through my ears and vibrated in my brain. It was impossible to ignore. Keeping my head down, I continued to walk along the lockers. Step, step, step, stop. In my vision was a pair of too-high high heels. Sighing, I lifted up my head to catch her gaze. Cold and cruel. Piercing blue eyes locked in mine. I stayed silent. “What’s the matter? Bat got your tongue?” She slammed her hand on my books, knocking them to the ground, and scattering them around the ground. Her shrieking laugh drifted off down the corridor.

With a silent grunt, I bent down on my knees. I began picking up the scattered books and notebooks, the torn pages and the pencils. Around me, I could still hear the faded laughs of onlookers who had just witnessed the entire thing unfold.

Once everything was back in my possession, I stood up and hugged my books tightly to my chest before looking around the clearing hallway. The warning bell rang and I quickly maneuvered my way to class, not daring to step out into the center of the halls. A few small groups still lingered, yet I didn’t want to catch their attention.

As much as I hated to admit it, my camouflage was useless. In a world of neon green and bright pink, oversized black sweatshirts with dark gray sweatpants stood out. Where other girls had their own unique shoes, mine were nothing special. Old black tennis shoes. My straight black hair hung loosely over my shoulders. In a world where everything was exciting and eye-popping, dullness stood out.

That didn’t stop me from trying. I would not be caught dead in any of their outfits. The tight shirts, the short shorts, and of course, the high heels. Uncomfortable and hideously over exaggerated. The makeup they wear insulted them more than they could understand. Of course they would never understand how it made them look. Blinded by their flashy colors.

I took my seat in the back of the room, setting my supplies onto the small wooden desk. Around me, I could hear whispering and giggling. The sound grew louder, and echoed inside of me. Inaudible despite the volume. My chest ached and my head began spinning. After all this time, the feeling had not become numb to me. The teacher began the lesson, but I couldn’t focus. All I could focus on was what was calling out to me. Pain. It was whimpering to me; just give up. Don’t go on.

As the school day ended, I made my way back to my locker. In a lucky turn of events, a horde of people were not crowded around it. Spinning away the combination, I grabbed my old bag out of my bag. In went my things as I slung the fabric sack over my shoulder. Shutting my locker, I sauntered out of the nearest exit towards my home.

I strolled past many houses. Big and small, old and new, welcoming and repultant. Until I came to my house. The one in the middle. Neither new or old, neither welcoming nor repultant. Just it. I made my way up the steps and gripped the door handle, twisting it. It didn’t move. Locked. With a sigh, I fiddled around in my bag to find the key, before sticking it into the lock. The door now opened with ease. Returning the key to my bag, I shut the door and locked it from the inside. Alone. Just as it should be.

Loneliness is an illness. One you can grow an immunity to. Sometimes, even come to accept or enjoy. In an instance such as this, it was genuinely embraced.

In my room, my bag was tossed to the corner, and I made my way into the kitchen. Sitting on the table to the side, set a brown cardboard box. Cautiously, I approached it. Grasping the sides of the lid, I opened it. Doughnuts. I’d avoided them until this point. I felt like a stranger as I reached into the box to grab a white, powdered one. It left a stain on my fingers that was easily ignored. With a paper towel, I carried it over to the cabinet where I set it on the counter.

A deep breath and a few silent words later, I sent my hand to the handle and opened it up. Bottles upon bottles lie in there. Gripping three, I brought them down to the counter. I opened up each one, pulling out two of the objects from each. All were white and hard. The bottles then were returned to their rightful place. In the corner of the counter, I grabbed the pill cutter. Individually, I cut each one. First into half, then smaller and smaller pieces, before they were sprinkled onto the doughnut next to it. My heart pounded and my gut twisted. I knew I had to do this.

Once all the pills were gone, I pushed the crusher back to where it belonged. Nobody would notice anything was wrong with one glance. I carried the doughnut up to my room, locking the door once I was inside. Bringing the treat to my lips, I whispered subtle goodbyes to the few people I would miss. I placed it into my mouth. One bite after another. It tasted sweet, and left a sour aftertaste. After the whole thing was consumed, I felt a fire in my chest and darkness surrounded me. A happy ending.

My eyes blinked open and the room spun around me. The pain in my head was throbbing as I slowly forced myself into a seating position. As my mind began to clear, much like a slowly developing picture, I could see only one thing.

Their destruction.

It felt almost at my fingertips, just barely out of reach. The thought brought a twisted grin to my lips as I made my way slowly to my feet. Catching my balance, I exited the room.

I arrived at my parent’s door and cautiously crept in. Empty. Perfect. Walking over to the dresser, I grasped a small, metal key. In the corner of the room sat a brown leather chest. As I stuck the key into the lock I heard a satisfying click. Quickly, I lifted the lid as my grin grew wider. The first time I’d smiled in who-knows-how-long. I ran my fingers over the cold surface. Unused, saved. Wrapping my fingers around it, I carried it to my bag on the couch. Once it was safely inside, I quickly got ready. Getting dressed, brushing my teeth and hair. I was more than ready.

Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I began to walk towards the school building. My eagerness grew with every step. When the school was close enough, I forced my grin away and took one step at a time into the last place anyone would see me.

“Oh, hi little goth girl. Finally brush your hair, or did your mom do it for you?” It was enough to send me over the edge.

What followed stayed in my mind as a series of images, as a slideshow being presented in my head. My hand reached into my bag and pulled out the shotgun. All I knew next was blood splattered across the body of the school. Disembodied shrieks that could be heard for miles, and the pops that wouldn’t stop.

As I stopped the revel in the glorious despair, my life felt complete. Which meant I had nothing left to live for. In a split second, the gun was to my chest, and welcomed in my true happy ending.

*DISCLAIMER: This is purely a work of fiction. I have no intention to act upon any events in the story. On a further note, I know I am treading on dangerous grounds with this, as depressing and school shootings are very personal and tragic issues. If anyone feels offended, my intention was not in that nature, and I truly do apologize.*