Just Let Go

I gripped the razor tightly, felt it slice smoothly through my fingers. I felt the dull throb of pain that came with it. It stirred in the pit of my stomach, threatening to overflow and cause me to cry out. But I wouldn't let it. I grit my teeth against the bile that rose in my throat. Not this time. It wasn't getting me this time. No, it was my turn to be in control. The bile slowly sunk back, giving in.

I closed my eyes and lifted my chin to the ceiling, thinking real hard. Thinking about anything and everything. Was this worth it? I could still live, even with this pain. I could withstand the pain, couldn't I? Couldn't I? Couldn't. . .

I slashed the blade across my wrist. Two clean strokes, severing the veins perfectly. My vision blurred momentarily, but came too late. I saw the blood, the flood of red. It engulfed me. It was me. I was fading away, almost gone when the answer came to my question.

No. I couldn't go on. I wasn't strong enough. This was it.

I just need to . . . let go.

- x -

The was an eerie air to the room. The AC was not on but the room was chilled.

There were more empty seats than filled, to her dismay. She looked around, tissue to nose, snuffling in the back corner.

Empty seats, she thought, just empty seats.

At the head of the room was a small, rectangular coffin. The dark mahogany cover was peeled back a few feet to reveal the face of a girl. She looked peaceful, lying there, eyes shut. Her mother had closed them after she found her in the bathroom, soaked in her own blood. The razor had slipped from Elyon's grasp and lay beside her feet, glinting with malice.

It was her mother who sat in the back corner, brooding, mourning, wondering. Why was nobody here? Why was it so damn icy cold? Why, why, why? All these unanswered questions . . .

Elyon's mother stared at the portrait of her daughter beside the coffin, eyes full of pain and confusion. Confusion that tagged along with most suicides. Was life really that bad that she felt the need to take her own life? Why was I not good enough? What did I do to push her to this?

Elyon's portrait smiled back at her, if a little bit menacingly. A golden halo of hair cupped Elyon's face, caressed her cheeks. Her teeth sparkled. Her cheeks were rosy. Her eyes, a deep, ocean blue, glittered. But this was the fake Elyon. No one knew that her smile only masked the pain. No one knew that her cheeks were only rosy after minutes of pinching. No one knew that her hair had taken hours to perfect. All this effort to portray the happy daughter that was now captured in this portrait.

And it had worked. Nobody had suspected a thing.

Her death came as a surprise. It allowed for the darkness to make its way across the town. The chilled atmosphere seeped into every house, apartment, residence. It attacked every living thing. It instilled a feeling of hatred, sorrow, and neglect in every living being.

With Elyon's death came a plague of hail, chilling every citizen to the bone.