After reading the suicide stories Storm and Cheese wrote (purely fictional, by the way), I was inspired to write one of my own.
She's always been broken. Born broken, struggled through life, thrown on the crimson floor, permanently fractured. A million scattered little pieces. Insignificant. Ignored. Worthless. No one cared. When they saw her (provided they even noticed) they just turned their heads and walked away. No one gave a damn to those little specks on the floor, unless they were in the mood to crush something, in the mood for a laugh. She was nothing. Her screams, her cries...Nothing.
She's always been different. Some part of her must have broke, got lost and never returned. Impossible to find? Or maybe it was never there from the start. It wouldn't surprise her. She was born broken, remember? Not whole. Different. Hurting. A black spot on a beautiful rainbow painting, something that was never meant to be there but oops, I made a mistake and ended up there anyway. They despised her, they wanted her out. She wanted out, too. She knows she doesn't belong here, doesn't belong anywhere really...Though the shadows do seem comforting sometimes. They wave at her and she reaches out for their cold embraces.
She's always been hated. They stabbed her with painful words, they burned her with their loathing, they laughed at her pathetic being as they cracked it beyond known limits. They wrenched hope away from her pathetic grasp and twisted her world into a dark, cold one. But it's not all that cruel. I mean, they only opened her blind eyes to the truth. That she shouldn't be there. That she shouldn't have lived. That all of it was so, so wrong. They're not the only ones who hate her, really. She despises her broken being with a passion, a passion fueled by heartless creatures. But those creatures weren't broken now, were they? No, they were whole. They had that sort of perfection that life refused to give her.
Life. Life was unfair. Life was cruel. Life was-
She hated it. She just hated it. Hated it all.
So she gave up on it. A knife, a pool of blood and a letter addressed to no one. A blank letter, actually. Because she owed no one an apology and she loved no one. No one loved her. No one was going to miss her. No one gave a damn about her, honestly.
So she lies there, clothes stained crimson, waiting for the darkness to claim her broken soul.
Ah...suicide. Lovely. We love our angst, don't we?
ReplyDeleteImagery's nice - like the bit about stabbing with word, which just shows how much hurt they cause her. All of it really felt emotional.
I think I liked last sentence the best, because it's like everything's been building up to that point and then this description of what she did. Oh, and you don't actually explicitly state the suicidey part of it, but we already kind of knew what's going to happen/hazard a guess and then we only needed a description and then we know - which is a simple last sentence that just stick in your head.
Uh...maybe break up your paragraphs a little. Just to give some of the really short sentences even more impact. Plus, even though you're breaking up the paragraphs it actually makes it flow better (well, in my head it would, anyway).
Who said you could only romance/angst? Pretty good. :)