Twelve
1/1
I had to be going insane. Seriously, I think it was the only possible way this was happening. She was shorter than me. Wider, too. She had a gap in between her two front teeth and she looked depressed. Dark circles were under her eyes as if she hasn’t slept for days.
“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, looking through my things.
“You’re not real.” I said, to myself really.
“Clearly I am. And I’m thirsty.” There was no explanation as to why I would be talking to my twelve year old self. She was always thirsty. I mean, I was always thirsty.
“No, you’re not. This is a dream. I’m dreaming, and I refuse to get you something to drink.” I crossed my legs and folded my arms.
“Jeez, I didn’t think I’d be such a jerk when I got older,” she said.
“I don’t remember being so annoying.”
“All I asked was if you had something to drink. Forgive me,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. She ran her chubby finger along a table, then stared at it.
“I see my neatness has in no way improved. You could make a house with the dust on this thing.” I rolled my eyes at her and watched as she proceeded to wipe the dust off of the table using her entire hand. She wiped them on her plaid uniform skirt and picked up a framed photo.
“Who’s he?” she asked, scrunching her nose up.
“Nobody.”
“You’ve got a picture of him in your house, so you must know him,” she said, putting on hand on her hip.
“He’s nobody. Not anymore. He left.” She looked at me for a few seconds. Then she finally looked away and set the picture back down.
“I say we TP his house or something. You know, this is exactly why I avoid the opposite sex.” I rolled my eyes.
“They think you’re a serial killer.” She shrugged.
“Well that helps.”
“You know, you really need to leave. I can’t handle this right now,” I said, standing and going towards the door.
“I’m only here because you’re going to kill yourself,” she said simply. “I mean, I knew it would happen, because as crappy as things are right now for me, I could imagine they’re just going to get worse.”
My vision was blurred, and my head was starting to hurt. I stopped listening to her after the part about me killing myself. My freshman year in high school, I had about five episodes in which I’d considered swallowing all of my migraine pills, but I never did it. And I wasn’t thinking about it tonight until she said something.
“I think I told you too early, huh? But if you’re gonna off yourself tonight, who cares what time you find out right? You don’t know why, do you?”
I stumbled over into the kitchen and gripped the granite countertop to keep myself from falling.
“You have mental disorders. I mean, clearly, since you’re talking to your twelve year old self. That’s just not normal. You can’t keep a boyfriend and your best friend took your last one from you, the one you actually had a chance with. You’re about to get fired from your job, you already have hardly any money left. Not to mention, you’re still as depressed as you were when you were me. Nothing’s changed. So you’re going to end your life before it possibly gets worse.”
Nothing was clear. Everything was still fuzzy. I was still holding on to the counter. I felt stomach acid rise up and down my throat. I just felt sick. She was right, but everything that was happening just then was extremely overwhelming.
Then, I let go of the counter and slid down to the ground against it, holding myself. I saw her standing in front of me, her kankles in black stockings and dress-shoes.
“Here,” she said, extending her arm to me with a bottle of pills gripped in her hand.
I stared at it for a while until finally, I took it from her.
“It’s for the best, you know. I don’t think we were really meant to be here. Things are just going downhill.” I nodded slowly and opened the bottle.
She watched me intently as I poured all of the white pills into the palm of my hand. What was going to become of me if my twelve year old body was telling me to end it? Sometimes…you just have to stop.
I swallowed them all dry. It hurt my throat, but I didn’t really care.
“Now just lie down, and wait for things to take place,” she said, smiling. I noticed that now, I was able to see right through her, to the couch and television behind her.
She was fading, and though not literally, so was I.
“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked, looking through my things.
“You’re not real.” I said, to myself really.
“Clearly I am. And I’m thirsty.” There was no explanation as to why I would be talking to my twelve year old self. She was always thirsty. I mean, I was always thirsty.
“No, you’re not. This is a dream. I’m dreaming, and I refuse to get you something to drink.” I crossed my legs and folded my arms.
“Jeez, I didn’t think I’d be such a jerk when I got older,” she said.
“I don’t remember being so annoying.”
“All I asked was if you had something to drink. Forgive me,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. She ran her chubby finger along a table, then stared at it.
“I see my neatness has in no way improved. You could make a house with the dust on this thing.” I rolled my eyes at her and watched as she proceeded to wipe the dust off of the table using her entire hand. She wiped them on her plaid uniform skirt and picked up a framed photo.
“Who’s he?” she asked, scrunching her nose up.
“Nobody.”
“You’ve got a picture of him in your house, so you must know him,” she said, putting on hand on her hip.
“He’s nobody. Not anymore. He left.” She looked at me for a few seconds. Then she finally looked away and set the picture back down.
“I say we TP his house or something. You know, this is exactly why I avoid the opposite sex.” I rolled my eyes.
“They think you’re a serial killer.” She shrugged.
“Well that helps.”
“You know, you really need to leave. I can’t handle this right now,” I said, standing and going towards the door.
“I’m only here because you’re going to kill yourself,” she said simply. “I mean, I knew it would happen, because as crappy as things are right now for me, I could imagine they’re just going to get worse.”
My vision was blurred, and my head was starting to hurt. I stopped listening to her after the part about me killing myself. My freshman year in high school, I had about five episodes in which I’d considered swallowing all of my migraine pills, but I never did it. And I wasn’t thinking about it tonight until she said something.
“I think I told you too early, huh? But if you’re gonna off yourself tonight, who cares what time you find out right? You don’t know why, do you?”
I stumbled over into the kitchen and gripped the granite countertop to keep myself from falling.
“You have mental disorders. I mean, clearly, since you’re talking to your twelve year old self. That’s just not normal. You can’t keep a boyfriend and your best friend took your last one from you, the one you actually had a chance with. You’re about to get fired from your job, you already have hardly any money left. Not to mention, you’re still as depressed as you were when you were me. Nothing’s changed. So you’re going to end your life before it possibly gets worse.”
Nothing was clear. Everything was still fuzzy. I was still holding on to the counter. I felt stomach acid rise up and down my throat. I just felt sick. She was right, but everything that was happening just then was extremely overwhelming.
Then, I let go of the counter and slid down to the ground against it, holding myself. I saw her standing in front of me, her kankles in black stockings and dress-shoes.
“Here,” she said, extending her arm to me with a bottle of pills gripped in her hand.
I stared at it for a while until finally, I took it from her.
“It’s for the best, you know. I don’t think we were really meant to be here. Things are just going downhill.” I nodded slowly and opened the bottle.
She watched me intently as I poured all of the white pills into the palm of my hand. What was going to become of me if my twelve year old body was telling me to end it? Sometimes…you just have to stop.
I swallowed them all dry. It hurt my throat, but I didn’t really care.
“Now just lie down, and wait for things to take place,” she said, smiling. I noticed that now, I was able to see right through her, to the couch and television behind her.
She was fading, and though not literally, so was I.