They Have Won

She rushes out of the house, whispering a final goodbye. She tries to speak, but the words come out hard and raspy, like a ghost regretting its death. It's midnight. Her parents are fast asleep, her little brother too. She snuck out. Pushing her bike from behind the garage, she feels the cool air rush up against her skin. She walks down the street, shivering in her light jacket. The darkness of the night swallows her, clutches onto her. It never wants to let go. She hops onto her bike and peddles further into the blackness.  Evil words fill her mind. Fat. Stupid. Ugly. Bitch. Loser. Retard. Fat. Stupid. Ugly. The words hurt more now than they ever did. She repeats them to herself, just loud enough for her to hear them. Several times she does this. Then her stomach lurches forward. It's a sick feeling, wanting to die. Squeezing hard onto the bicycle breaks, she screeches the bike to a stop. Tears leak from her eyes, and suddenly, she can't feel anything. She can't feel the cool night air against her skin, or the mosquito bite on her pointer finger. She can't feel the bottle she shoved into her pocket. She checks to make sure it's still there.

It is.

It's too late. She can't go back now. Taking a quiet breath, she lets her eyes wander to the large bridge not too far ahead. Her mind is made. The few cars traveling over the bridge are either travelers coming from a late-night flight, or girls whose date cheated on them. They just want to get home. No one would notice her.

She gets back on her bike. Under a streetlamp, she notices the cuts on her wrist. They're nothing. They mean nothing to her anymore. They aren't cuts of pain, of hurt, of loss.

They are hints.

She wanted help. She really did. She tried to reach out, but no one was there. Not a single soul. The pain she felt from the knife was like a release from everything else she felt. She wanted someone to notice the cuts.

No one did.

And if they did....

No one cared.

She had shown all the signs. She gave her prized possesions away. Everday she told her parents she loved them. That night, she'd hugged them so tight, she could have squeezed the life out of them.

She hopes they will miss her. 

She makes her way to the bridge. When she finally arrives, she lays her bike down gently, then walks shakily to the centre.

Should I?

No.

Here I go.

She takes the bright orange pill bottle from her jacket. Popping the white cap off of the hard plastic, she begins to sob.

I just wanted to reach out...I wanted someone to take my hand.

Her tears come more rapidly.

Everyone just locked me out.

She spills the pale yellow pills into her palm.

They will never understand.

Voices come from behind her. They're startling. It's midnight. Who would be walking at midnight? She zones them out -- their trivial gossip has nothing to do with her, and even if it did, it wouldn't have mattered.

They pass.

Taking one last look at the sky, she takes a breath. One by one, she puts the pills into her mouth. A minute passes. Two, three, four, five. She begins to grow scared. What if it doesn't work? Six, seven, eight. I'll just jump then, she decides, the thought firm. Nine, ten. A rush of wooziness gives her a warm, content feeling; almost happy. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. The warmth is gone, and she begins to shiver. A world of dizzying blackness tumbles into her head. Unaware, her body slips into the roaring river below.

They have won.