Author's Quite Important Note: This is possibly one of the most messed up things I have ever written. Thus, I have to ask you not to read this if you can't handle STRONG THEMES OF SUICIDE and general epic angst. For the love of God, don't.
As always, English is not my native language. (Fun fact, while rereading this, I found out I had mistakenly written 'superstitious' instead of 'superficial'. Sometimes I hate you, English. Sincerely, the ones trying to remember all the words.)
Warning: Seriously. It's dangerous to go alone. Take this. *hands you a kitty*
Part 1: The Alley Cat
So here I am. I never thought it could be this easy. When I was leaving the hospital, there was no one to engage in polite, superficial chit-chat with me. When I was unlocking my car, there was no one in need of a ride home. When I stepped over the threshold, there was no one to welcome me and pull me into a hug. When I opened the bottle, there was no one to stop my hands.
Now I'm lying on the floor and it's getting colder every second. The tiles are like ice under my head and the light is like a cobweb on my face. There is no blood, no; I've seen enough of blood for a lifetime, I don't need to depart with it. No, silence is all there is, a friend I have come to admire highly during these last few months. Years, perhaps. It devoured me before I had a chance to realize or fight back. I noticed it for the first time when Chase's bitter remarks stopped cutting so deep, and gradually, they became no more than scratches over old scars. I grew numb, and I am grateful, because numbness of body gives space to the mind it tends to rule over.
Is it true that the more you think, the more upset you grow? It is for me, but I believe I barely uncovered the truth, the truth that the world is spoiled. It took time. Day after day after day, I kept believing that good existed, that things would work out and the good guys would win. I was pathetic and naïve, but naïvety is what's kept me alive. Then couples broke up and it was my fault. Experiments were performed on babies and I didn't act. People's lies resurfaced in all their glory. People died, and it was my fault.
For some, the truth is worth living for. For me, it isn't.
My mother used to tell me that snow is just tears of angels who mourn for the dying land. I look out of the window and see snowflakes descending peacefully. I slowly tilt my head in wonder; suddenly, I wish I had done this outside and could, for the last time, taste heaven. It's too late now.
If I were to be self-centered enough, I'd say the angels are crying for me. Then again, their tears are but a fairytale.
Still, it doesn't hurt to be, just one more time, the innocent little girl I used to be before he changed even the core of my being. One last time, I promise. They are out there. They're watching. They're sad. I never meant to make them sad and I feel a glimpse of remorse in my chest. I want to apologize but I'm too weak to even mutter the words: "I'm sorry."
Passion rules reason. Ignorance is bliss. Pride goes before a fall. Hundreds of arbitrary rules that men made to give sense to the rotten behavior of the universe. It works just as well without our pointless laws but we stick to them and defend them because they make things easier as a rule of thumb. I looked past those rules and saw blackness.
Disregard the remaining amount of light outside, it's getting late. Too late to undo what's been done, too late to step back. I'm tired. Good night, Princeton. Sweet dreams to me.