Dying Is Your Latest Fashion

Lori

Sticks and stones will break my bones; but words will never hurt me. Seriously, what frickin’ idiot wrote that? Words always hurt you far more than any physical object ever can.
Especially when those words are spoken in a way which makes you want to die right then and there, even if they were spoken in a way which never intended that. Spoken by a person who would never want to cause you harm.

Just like the first time. They hadn’t wanted to cause me harm, but ended up being the one to break my heart. Ten million times over.
“Coming...”Aralia had paused, thought looming over her face, before her eyes lit up, internally sighing I had prepared to hear what humiliating nickname she had decided to nickname me today “Ella-or-Ear” she chuckled.
My heart stopped beating. I stopped taking in oxygen, wishing I could just dissolve into the air and be swept a thousand miles away from here, a thousand miles closer to Lucas.
Choking in air, much to my displeasure, I managed to spit out 5 words. 5 words which I made sure sounded venomous and like death. “What did you just call me?”

“What? I thought it was pretty ingenious myself...Ella-or-E---” she asked, confused.

I couldn’t take hearing that name again, and found myself pressing the palm of my hand firmly against her mouth, caging in the devilish words to which I would rather die than hear again.

Knowing that I was causing Aralia a hard time breathing I eventually released my grip over her mouth, but not before harshly whispering a warning in her ear. “Never. Call. Me. That. Again.”

Hurrying down the driveway I flicked my fringe so that it was covering my tear stained cheeks. Aralia didn’t need to know how much pain she had caused me; I was already regretting my harshly whispered words to my younger sister. But, you can never take back something you once meant, even if it was only meant for a brief period of 10 seconds.

Walking through the wrought iron gates, more a faded orange colour than the supposed jet black our head always informed the first year’s parents, due to the amount of rust that had built up over the years since they had been first erected. I scanned my eyes over the amount of people that had begun to re-occupy lost spaces, run screeching to greet each other after 6 weeks of holidays and as always, they fell to The Banks, a green slope that ran up the edge of one of the sides of the tarmaced ‘playground’, a high rusting iron fence behind it which ran the perimeter of the school, keeping us caged in like wild animals...or prisoners.
The Banks is where Lucas and I would sit huddled together during the long lunch hour, anyone looking on would find me sitting shaking as he clasped tightly onto my hand, even when I was bundled up in both of our jackets and my panda hat and gloves. The cold and harsh winter was always the worst time, even if it was my favourite month, my irrationally low immune system with the bonus of asthma always made me especially vulnerable to the cold air and frosty atmosphere.

As I clutched feverishly to my arms, crossing them awkwardly across my body, I saw futile stares at me, people seemed to have momentarily forgotten the sheer amount of loss which our small town had witnessed over the summer months, however as I walked solemnly over to The Banks, to Our Tree, the people in the immediate vicinity to myself seemed to hush, and just stare.

They didn’t say anything. They just looked on at me, as if in awe that I was still here, although I knew that in my heart, I also knew that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn't for my promise to Lucas.

Then, I heard the whispers began. They multiplied and multiplied, filling my brain until all I could hear was a blur of whispered comments.

‘That’s her......Yeah, her boyfriend was the one who killed himself.....Yeah, that one.....She killed her boyfriend?.....So the paper was right......My mum told me that she drove him to suicide.....Her boyfriend was fit why’d he pick her.....She should jump in a lake.....Murderer.....’

I felt tears spring to my eyes as the crowds began to chant in hushed, whispered voices one word over and over again. Murderer.

As the chanting went on I began to return to believing that I was the reason behind his death, after all if he hadn’t fallen in love with me he would still be here...if I had never of spoken to him after out big fallout he would still be here....Alive. With breathe in his body.....thought and feelings behind his now forever glassy gaze.

I’m sorry Lucas.....

But, I knew that no matter how many ‘What if....’s my brain ran through Lucas would never return, would never be here again, would never clasp onto my hand under Our Tree during the long, cold winter months, the magnitude of which I felt had just increased.

I collapsed onto the grassy patch amongst various patches of dust and dirt. Curling my legs up in front of me I bowed my head, lifting my eyes to stare at the crowd of people watching me intently from under the safety of my fringe.

It was as if I was the shiny new attraction at a theme park, the one everyone was obsessed over for a week or two and then was left to rust amongst the various other long forgotten rides.

Thinking intently to myself I repeated one phrase over and over.

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

Eventually it felt as though I was shouting at myself, my mind a blur of that one sentence.

STICKS AND STONES WILL BREAK MY BONES.
WORDS WILL NEVER HURT ME.
STICK AND WORDS WILL NEVER BREAK MY BONES.
STONES WILL ALWAYS HURT ME.
STICK AND STONES WILL NEVER HURT ME.

WORDS WILL ALWAYS BREAK ME.

Words will always break me...now that was something I could believe.