Your Cries
First And Last
I I cried as he hit me again. He picked me up and threw me across the room. He used to be my father. Used to be. This guy I see every time he drinks is not my father. He’s changed ever since my brother died. Every night he drinks and drinks. It’s not only the nights either. It’s the days also. It’s all the time. Mom is always on business trips. She knows he drinks, but she doesn’t know what he does when he drinks.
I heard a ‘snap’ as I landed on my arm on the floor across the room, followed by a blood boiling scream that was my own.
“You stupid bitch don’t deserve to live! We never wanted a girl in the first place!” He screamed at me continuously mumbling ‘doesn’t deserve to live, doesn’t deserve.’ Over and over. He sloppily picked up his bottle of beer and stormed out of the room. It’s only every night that I wonder if what he’s saying is him or the alcohol speaking.
I slowly sat up gritting my teeth together to keep me from screaming in pain as I felt the broken arm (and possibly ribs). I dangled my arm as I stood up and made my way to my bedroom not bothering to wipe away the blood or brush off the dirt. All too many times I’ve been through this. Then the thought ran through my head. The thought that I’ve always wanted to embrace, but that the same time being deathly afraid of it. I may have only been 12 but I wasn’t dumb.
I sighed going over thoughts of if I should or not. Who would I leave behind? The only person who I could think about was dear old Mom. I never knew her well. She’s always gone, supporting us with her catering business. Other than that, I don’t have anyone else. No friends. No love. No talent. No nothing. I sighed again making my final plans. I had been previously sitting on my bed but had now gotten up and ripped a blank page out of my notebook, and began to write.
When I was finished I went into the kitchen, grabbed a safety pin and clipped it to my shirt. I unplugged the phone chord and grabbed it, bringing a chair with me. I gradually moved back to my room shutting the door. I set the chair in the middle and attached the phone chord to the ceiling while making a loop at the end.
‘So I run, I run away. To the light of masochist. And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies. And I walked this line a million and one fucking times. But not this time!’
I sighed remembering some of my favourite lyrics. I looked around my room one last time. I stepped up on the chair and put my head through the phone chord loop that would take away the pain. I sighed again.
‘Night life the high life she just wants a good life. So someone remembers her too. But somewhere she heard there was some place to go, when you die when you live like we do. Die when you live like we do.’
I kicked the chair out from under me, heard a snap. And was gone.
Cop’s POV:
“Suicide?” The chief asked me as he entered the room with the poor girl’s body hanging by a telephone wire.
“Yes sir. She was diagnosed clinically insane after her family died in a car crash two years ago. Her Mom, Dad, and Brother. For some reason the loony bin let her out 3 weeks ago. She was reported missing but apparently was hiding out here. It was her house, but she was going to an orphanage. Poor girl.”
“Did you find a note? Normally when they…..do this, they leave a note.” The chief asked.
“Yes sir.” I said bluntly as I handed him the note that was attached to her.
‘Dear Everyone.
I can’t stand anymore of life. Just bleeding inside with no one knowing that daddy beats me when mommy’s gone. And no one even so much as cares. So after the cops get this note I hope you put that bastard in jail. . . . I hope I’m not a burden to anyone anymore. Goodbye.’
“Short and to the point. She must’ve thought her family was still alive and her dad beat her. Wow. Poor girl was only 12.” The chief muttered. Then out of no where, a heavy wind chilled our faces and the door slammed.
We both looked back to see. No one was standing there.
I heard a ‘snap’ as I landed on my arm on the floor across the room, followed by a blood boiling scream that was my own.
“You stupid bitch don’t deserve to live! We never wanted a girl in the first place!” He screamed at me continuously mumbling ‘doesn’t deserve to live, doesn’t deserve.’ Over and over. He sloppily picked up his bottle of beer and stormed out of the room. It’s only every night that I wonder if what he’s saying is him or the alcohol speaking.
I slowly sat up gritting my teeth together to keep me from screaming in pain as I felt the broken arm (and possibly ribs). I dangled my arm as I stood up and made my way to my bedroom not bothering to wipe away the blood or brush off the dirt. All too many times I’ve been through this. Then the thought ran through my head. The thought that I’ve always wanted to embrace, but that the same time being deathly afraid of it. I may have only been 12 but I wasn’t dumb.
I sighed going over thoughts of if I should or not. Who would I leave behind? The only person who I could think about was dear old Mom. I never knew her well. She’s always gone, supporting us with her catering business. Other than that, I don’t have anyone else. No friends. No love. No talent. No nothing. I sighed again making my final plans. I had been previously sitting on my bed but had now gotten up and ripped a blank page out of my notebook, and began to write.
When I was finished I went into the kitchen, grabbed a safety pin and clipped it to my shirt. I unplugged the phone chord and grabbed it, bringing a chair with me. I gradually moved back to my room shutting the door. I set the chair in the middle and attached the phone chord to the ceiling while making a loop at the end.
‘So I run, I run away. To the light of masochist. And I leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies. And I walked this line a million and one fucking times. But not this time!’
I sighed remembering some of my favourite lyrics. I looked around my room one last time. I stepped up on the chair and put my head through the phone chord loop that would take away the pain. I sighed again.
‘Night life the high life she just wants a good life. So someone remembers her too. But somewhere she heard there was some place to go, when you die when you live like we do. Die when you live like we do.’
I kicked the chair out from under me, heard a snap. And was gone.
Cop’s POV:
“Suicide?” The chief asked me as he entered the room with the poor girl’s body hanging by a telephone wire.
“Yes sir. She was diagnosed clinically insane after her family died in a car crash two years ago. Her Mom, Dad, and Brother. For some reason the loony bin let her out 3 weeks ago. She was reported missing but apparently was hiding out here. It was her house, but she was going to an orphanage. Poor girl.”
“Did you find a note? Normally when they…..do this, they leave a note.” The chief asked.
“Yes sir.” I said bluntly as I handed him the note that was attached to her.
‘Dear Everyone.
I can’t stand anymore of life. Just bleeding inside with no one knowing that daddy beats me when mommy’s gone. And no one even so much as cares. So after the cops get this note I hope you put that bastard in jail. . . . I hope I’m not a burden to anyone anymore. Goodbye.’
“Short and to the point. She must’ve thought her family was still alive and her dad beat her. Wow. Poor girl was only 12.” The chief muttered. Then out of no where, a heavy wind chilled our faces and the door slammed.
We both looked back to see. No one was standing there.