The girl sat in her dark room. She sat with a numb stillness as she grabbed the blade; she had snatched it from the kitchen downstairs. She’d never been caught doing it, so she knew she had to cover her new cuts up with concealer. The girl also had bought many hoodies and baggy jumpers to cover them up, to avoid the question “What happened to your arms?” that her mum asked last month. She said that she simply fell over at netball and that it was classic and clumsy for her to do that. That hid it pretty well, she thought.
-
She gripped the knife hard, harder than what she had ever held something before. Inhaling the air to avoid noise, the girl pressed the blade on her wrist. A vicious red leaked out, never ending. It seeped, ending the continuous silence. For a moment her pain stopped, and for an even larger moment her mind fogged with a paralyzing heart ache. Her mind wanted to keep going, but her heart wanted to stop beating entirely.
-
She brought a piece of paper into her room. In which she began to write:
“ Dear Miss Doyle,
You might be wondering why I am writing… and why I’m not at school. Well let’s just say I took a bad turn and I’m in a better place; earth wasn’t meant for me I guess. I wasn’t ever successful…my purpose just isn’t for this education system after all. No matter how many times you have said how proud you are of me, or how you know I’ll be amazing, all grown up and intelligent, I will never have self esteem equal to the faith you have in me. And that’s the sad truth. And I really am sorry. I’ll never feel good enough with myself: in looks, grades or personality.
I couldn’t keep my promise of staying and being there for you… but there is one thing I can promise. And that is that I will always love you. I will always see you as a friend, incredible teacher and mother to me even when my soul has been lifted into clouds…into the high high dust of bittersweet harmony. I am so sorry; but please don’t feel it’s your fault. You kept me here longer than what I wanted…through my happiness, sadness, anxiety and anger you have been there, so don’t think you ‘could’ve done more for me. Thank you, and this is my last goodbye. Here is a picture for you to remember me by, and make sure you check on the girls for me. Someone needs to wipe their tears, but I don’t have the ability to do that as an invisible, forgotten soul.
Love Rubes xx”
-
She sighed… After taking a deep breath in, she attached pictures of herself to the letter. One was of her at the park, laughing and holding onto her friend for stability. Another was her and three other girls, in a selfie at a bowling alley, in a hoodie once again. Her left hand was behind her back, in a pose with them. They all looked at peace and happiness together. They looked fine. The last photo was a mirror image. She stood, in her navy blazer and perfect school tie, covering her face with her phone. Her hair was half brush and left to drape over her shoulder, further masking her identity. She looked happy, she really did.
The blade…the same blade she used to cut her arm. She picked it up again and held it to her neck. Tears fell, splattering on the sharp point.
I screamed…then I fell to the floor, clutching the note.
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