Losing You
One.
Mary lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She wanted to get up, but she simply didn’t have the energy any longer. The old Mary would have had the energy, but Mary didn’t know what had happened to her. She seemed to fade away more every single day and Mary could feel herself breaking apart at the thought.
She looked to the side, seeing her plain room around her. She sighed, the breath tickling her lips and causing the only sound in the room. It seems as though every single time she breathed out, she could feel more of herself slipping away. She hated it. She hated the fact that she wasn’t who she used to be and she hated herself for allowing herself to become this way.
She looked at the wall beside her bed. When she had been younger, she had sat with her back propped up against the bed, playing with her teddies and dolls, having picnics, designing her own shops, playing families and schools. She used to have such a vivid imagination. Now her mind was just a seething black pit of anger, hatred and depression. She had lost herself and she had no way of getting herself back.
A sob escaped from Mary’s throat. It sounded too loud in the deathly quiet room. It made her hate herself more. It was the sound of failure. It was the sound of her giving up. It was the sound of the new Mary, and the old Mary would never cry like that. The old Mary would be out with her friends. She would be writing. She would be painting and laughing and planning and doing her school assignments. She would be messing around on the internet and giggling and always having something to do.
The new Mary cried, slept, and felt sorry for herself. People said she was sick, but Mary thought she was just a stupid failure. Everyone tried to reassure her, but the old Mary would never have allowed herself to get so sick.
She watched the spot beside her bed. She could almost see the outline of herself as she used to be. She was looking up at her, pity in her eyes.
"Why do you give me your pity?" Mary whispered.
"Because I miss you," she could almost hear herself reply. "Please come back to me. Don’t lose me."
Every day she was fading away more.
"I don’t know what to do," Mary said softly.
"Fight," the old Mary whispered, and Mary blinked, and she was gone.
Fight.
How could you fight when you had nothing left to fight for?
Was there ever nothing left to fight for?
Mary sighed. She rolled over to face the wall. She could try, but it wasn’t like it would mean anything. Moving her head, she glanced back at where her old self had just been.
"Have I already lost you?" Mary whispered softly.
A slight smile flashed at her trough the darkness of her thoughts. She had to hope. She couldn’t lose hope.
She looked to the side, seeing her plain room around her. She sighed, the breath tickling her lips and causing the only sound in the room. It seems as though every single time she breathed out, she could feel more of herself slipping away. She hated it. She hated the fact that she wasn’t who she used to be and she hated herself for allowing herself to become this way.
She looked at the wall beside her bed. When she had been younger, she had sat with her back propped up against the bed, playing with her teddies and dolls, having picnics, designing her own shops, playing families and schools. She used to have such a vivid imagination. Now her mind was just a seething black pit of anger, hatred and depression. She had lost herself and she had no way of getting herself back.
A sob escaped from Mary’s throat. It sounded too loud in the deathly quiet room. It made her hate herself more. It was the sound of failure. It was the sound of her giving up. It was the sound of the new Mary, and the old Mary would never cry like that. The old Mary would be out with her friends. She would be writing. She would be painting and laughing and planning and doing her school assignments. She would be messing around on the internet and giggling and always having something to do.
The new Mary cried, slept, and felt sorry for herself. People said she was sick, but Mary thought she was just a stupid failure. Everyone tried to reassure her, but the old Mary would never have allowed herself to get so sick.
She watched the spot beside her bed. She could almost see the outline of herself as she used to be. She was looking up at her, pity in her eyes.
"Why do you give me your pity?" Mary whispered.
"Because I miss you," she could almost hear herself reply. "Please come back to me. Don’t lose me."
Every day she was fading away more.
"I don’t know what to do," Mary said softly.
"Fight," the old Mary whispered, and Mary blinked, and she was gone.
Fight.
How could you fight when you had nothing left to fight for?
Was there ever nothing left to fight for?
Mary sighed. She rolled over to face the wall. She could try, but it wasn’t like it would mean anything. Moving her head, she glanced back at where her old self had just been.
"Have I already lost you?" Mary whispered softly.
A slight smile flashed at her trough the darkness of her thoughts. She had to hope. She couldn’t lose hope.
♠ ♠ ♠
There we have it =] Hope you enjoyed.