Not Alone

[Mithra]

At home that night, as she mulled over the day, each bit of gossip and rumor that flitted about the school, her mind came to rest on what had happened in the hall. She was worried about herself, but didnt know what to do. A fear of rejection, of failure, often follows those who look good or do well. She lay across her bed and placed her chin in her hands; to her surprise, when she took them away, they were wet with tears. She was crying, but over what? The young mind is not an easy thing to deal with, least of all for the young person, and she was feeling the troubles and trials of growing up in a fast-paced world hard now.

As she cried, all the pain and the sorrow and the hurt she carried inside flowed out and pooled around her, just like the tears she shed. It was then, at the darkest time, the time-out-of-time that she thought, for the first time, and not the last, either, of suicide. It wasnt that she was sick of life, or hated it. She was scared and hurt, and didnt know where else to turn; who to run to. Most suicides arent those that hate themselves. Its the ones who are confused and dont know what next to do.

Later that evening, after her tears had dried, she sat on the side of her bed, a small knife in one hand, and her mothers prescription painkillers in the other. The one against the other. The pill or the knife. She descended into a deep melancholy as the decision beat away at her; as she compared each course of action to take. Then it came again. Its voice it definitely was an entityspoke to her not in words, but in emotions, in feelings. It spoke to her of bereavement, of loss, of pain, of sorrow. It spoke of a deep and horrible fate that had befallen it and its kind.

---

Feedback