Status: one shot. completed.
I Bet She'd Love That
1/1
Nobody ever understands…
“No, they don’t.” Eliza said through clenched teeth.
Nobody even cares.
“No, they don’t.”
Everybody hates you, Eliza!
“I know!” she let out a terrible scream. The people in the library were staring now.
“Sh!” shushed the librarian, not knowing poor young Eliza’s depressing torment. Instead of exploding in the librarian’s face, like one would expect Eliza instead smiled weakly, bowed her head and whispered ‘Sorry’, like she was used to doing so many times before. She left the library, her cheeks weren’t rosy from embarrassment, they weren’t rosy at all, and if they were, it would be from rage.
~~~
School.
Eliza is fifteen. She is a sophomore attending Lemo High School. She is in second period, Spanish 1. She hates that class, she doesn’t understand any of it, but the teacher just rolls his eyes when she asks for help. So she stopped.
Now, she’s in third period, English GATE 10. This class is her favorite, she loves it because she is learning how to write poetry with sound echo sense, she’s learning how to express her emotions correctly, and beautifully, though she works hard for nothing, no one reads them except for herself. And the person living in her head; it won’t introduce itself.
Fourth period, physical education, her most hated class. They make her wear shorts, they make her run, they notice her. And they hate her.
Lunch.
Sixth, chemistry. Survive, get out.
Seventh, shoot me now. is what Eliza thinks and rolls her eyes.
~~~
Home.
Eliza is lying in her bed, with the pillow over her ears, tears streaming down her face as she’s tortured by the yells, swears, and put-downs of her father and mother-in-law, soon to be ex-mother-in-law, she just knows it. Dad has been out with a pretty blonde, who he claims is a co-worker, and they work late on a ‘project for work’.
When they finally stopped yelling, Eliza got up from her bed and shuffled over to her computer, the screen turned on and stung her eyes in contrast to the dark sorrow she lived in.
“Eliza, take out the trash, and for heaven’s sake turn on a light in here, you paint your walls black, but you gotta at least turn on a light!” her father opened the door wide, but Eliza gave him a reason to stop doing that, and to knock first.
“Gee, sorry, Dad.”
“Eliza, put a shirt on.”
“It’s my room, knock next time, if you want modesty.”
“Hey, young lady! I’m not having this conversation with a fifteen-year-old! Especially right now, and with you not having a shirt on- goodnight, and take out the trash.” He hadn’t made eye contact with her the whole time he was babbling; he was staring at the floor covered with clothes. You can’t see the rug. “And clean this room!” he added, as he closed the door.
Then they started fighting about Eliza. What are they going to do with her. ‘Take her to a doctor’. ‘No she doesn’t need help’ ‘Can you see her arms? Do you see the slashes?’ ‘We can’t afford her going to a doctor.’ ‘You just don’t want to take her!’
Blah, blah, blah. Heh, they don’t care about you. They’re just looking for a reason to fight.
“I know.”
~~~
Eliza Bouche-Jonafon
The obituary read.
Eliza was fifteen, she lived in New York City, but though she looked normal on the outside, she wasn’t normal on the inside. Time of death: 11:59 p.m.
”I didn’t really know her, I just kinda saw her around, she was really pretty, not very out-going or athletic, in fact she wasn’t athletic at all.” a student in her Spanish class told the reporter at the scene.
Eliza was apparently in a depression, she had poems locked away in a small box, razors were stored in there as well, and a suicide note she wrote last year, but decided not to, or it was a failed attempt, and she was trying life again, but decided she couldn’t. We found the key to this box in her shoe, the one she was wearing when the neighbor’s cat found Eliza on the fence in the back yard. Apparently Eliza jumped out of her window on the second floor, but she jumped too far out and landed on the fence. The neighbor’s cat brought in one of the gloves Eliza was wearing, but it fell off of her hand.
“I didn’t really see her around, but whenever I tried talking to her, it’s like she wasn’t there! She ignored me, her eyes were- what’s that word, like they didn’t look like they were looking at anything…”
“Glazed.” the reporter suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it. They were glazed over, and I couldn’t break into her mind, it’s like she was done living, way before she killed herself,” her 13-year-old brother-in-law from her dad’s second marriage tells Joanne, the reporter for Channel 1 News.
Well, there you have it, another day, another suicide. Let’s start getting used to it, people.
If she were alive right now, I bet she’d love that.
“No, they don’t.” Eliza said through clenched teeth.
Nobody even cares.
“No, they don’t.”
Everybody hates you, Eliza!
“I know!” she let out a terrible scream. The people in the library were staring now.
“Sh!” shushed the librarian, not knowing poor young Eliza’s depressing torment. Instead of exploding in the librarian’s face, like one would expect Eliza instead smiled weakly, bowed her head and whispered ‘Sorry’, like she was used to doing so many times before. She left the library, her cheeks weren’t rosy from embarrassment, they weren’t rosy at all, and if they were, it would be from rage.
~~~
School.
Eliza is fifteen. She is a sophomore attending Lemo High School. She is in second period, Spanish 1. She hates that class, she doesn’t understand any of it, but the teacher just rolls his eyes when she asks for help. So she stopped.
Now, she’s in third period, English GATE 10. This class is her favorite, she loves it because she is learning how to write poetry with sound echo sense, she’s learning how to express her emotions correctly, and beautifully, though she works hard for nothing, no one reads them except for herself. And the person living in her head; it won’t introduce itself.
Fourth period, physical education, her most hated class. They make her wear shorts, they make her run, they notice her. And they hate her.
Lunch.
Sixth, chemistry. Survive, get out.
Seventh, shoot me now. is what Eliza thinks and rolls her eyes.
~~~
Home.
Eliza is lying in her bed, with the pillow over her ears, tears streaming down her face as she’s tortured by the yells, swears, and put-downs of her father and mother-in-law, soon to be ex-mother-in-law, she just knows it. Dad has been out with a pretty blonde, who he claims is a co-worker, and they work late on a ‘project for work’.
When they finally stopped yelling, Eliza got up from her bed and shuffled over to her computer, the screen turned on and stung her eyes in contrast to the dark sorrow she lived in.
“Eliza, take out the trash, and for heaven’s sake turn on a light in here, you paint your walls black, but you gotta at least turn on a light!” her father opened the door wide, but Eliza gave him a reason to stop doing that, and to knock first.
“Gee, sorry, Dad.”
“Eliza, put a shirt on.”
“It’s my room, knock next time, if you want modesty.”
“Hey, young lady! I’m not having this conversation with a fifteen-year-old! Especially right now, and with you not having a shirt on- goodnight, and take out the trash.” He hadn’t made eye contact with her the whole time he was babbling; he was staring at the floor covered with clothes. You can’t see the rug. “And clean this room!” he added, as he closed the door.
Then they started fighting about Eliza. What are they going to do with her. ‘Take her to a doctor’. ‘No she doesn’t need help’ ‘Can you see her arms? Do you see the slashes?’ ‘We can’t afford her going to a doctor.’ ‘You just don’t want to take her!’
Blah, blah, blah. Heh, they don’t care about you. They’re just looking for a reason to fight.
“I know.”
~~~
Eliza Bouche-Jonafon
The obituary read.
Eliza was fifteen, she lived in New York City, but though she looked normal on the outside, she wasn’t normal on the inside. Time of death: 11:59 p.m.
”I didn’t really know her, I just kinda saw her around, she was really pretty, not very out-going or athletic, in fact she wasn’t athletic at all.” a student in her Spanish class told the reporter at the scene.
Eliza was apparently in a depression, she had poems locked away in a small box, razors were stored in there as well, and a suicide note she wrote last year, but decided not to, or it was a failed attempt, and she was trying life again, but decided she couldn’t. We found the key to this box in her shoe, the one she was wearing when the neighbor’s cat found Eliza on the fence in the back yard. Apparently Eliza jumped out of her window on the second floor, but she jumped too far out and landed on the fence. The neighbor’s cat brought in one of the gloves Eliza was wearing, but it fell off of her hand.
“I didn’t really see her around, but whenever I tried talking to her, it’s like she wasn’t there! She ignored me, her eyes were- what’s that word, like they didn’t look like they were looking at anything…”
“Glazed.” the reporter suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it. They were glazed over, and I couldn’t break into her mind, it’s like she was done living, way before she killed herself,” her 13-year-old brother-in-law from her dad’s second marriage tells Joanne, the reporter for Channel 1 News.
Well, there you have it, another day, another suicide. Let’s start getting used to it, people.
If she were alive right now, I bet she’d love that.