Bone House

I never slept, ever. It was either from night terrors or just simple insomnia. Dr. Mills says that could be caused by anything. He also said I will probably never be cured from it. Margie used to say it was my lack of sleep that made me such an ‘unhappy camper.’

I always thought I was just born a bitch.

So I sat in my bed, while Stephanie slept soundly next to me. Sighing, I turned away from her and to the side where my nightstand was placed. Grabbing the little knob I yanked it open and slipped my hand in, reaching for the little plastic bag. Finding it, I ripped it open, letting 3 pills fall into my palm.

Extra strength sleeping pills. I got them from a woman on the 2nd floor; she exchanged the sleeping pills for aspirin. I never asked what she did with her pills; she did the same with me.

I took them in one gulp, no water needed. I was used to this. The pills usually never worked, but they sort of gave my mind a bit of a numbing feeling, it helped when my body ached from lack of slumber.

There was a note in the drawer I had noticed when I went to dispose the bag. It was small, like it was just ripped from the corner of a page. Odd, really.

I grabbed it, opening it and looking at the simple words written on it.

Violet-

You were right.

M.

Margie’s chicken scratch writing was noticeable on the little paper.

I had to stare at it for a while to comprehend what was going on.

I had gotten a note from Margie.

Margie had died 3 days ago.

What was the note supposed to mean?

What was I right about?

Was it truly from her?

How long had it been in here?

Margie’s suicide was unexpected. Had she planned it? I doubted it. I would think you
would have to be clever and intelligent to plan your death. I found Margie neither.

It didn’t make sense.

I didn’t sleep that night, as expected.