Suicidal Recital

I can’t do this anymore.

The room was empty to all but the girl who sat in it. The padded walls, the sterile white gown, even the girls’ pasty skin- nothing stood out except the shock of magenta hair, inches of discoloured roots fading down, that sat messily upon the girls’ head.

The room was empty; the girls’ mind was not. All around her crowded the people of her past, present, and assumedly, her future; the bullies who had pushed her down on the way to school, the adults who disregarded her dreams of a band, and the so-called ‘friends’ that had gotten her here in the first place.

Not one person throughout her entire life had listened to who she was- they only listened to Ariel Bloomer; the singer, the designer, the druggie, the inmate...

“I’m not insane.” She spoke aloud, addressing her mind’s phantom beings that weightlessly filled the room; her voice, once so high and bell-like, was scratchy and hoarse, damaged from time and the toxic, disgusting, amazing substances that were so easy to access on tour.

One of the phantom beings, a former teacher, perhaps, paused in her aimless meandering and said, mildly, “Of course you’re not, dear.” The girl ignored her. Who cared what teachers said, anyways?

She bit her lip. Would this be enough for everyone, anyone to accept her? In one of her hands- wrinkly, veiny, old-grandma hands that seemed to be pasted on to her youthful body- she twirled a shiny piece of metal, something that should be impossible to have in her cell- but here it was, a shiny, unused and un-rusty little razor.

Ah, well, she thought dryly, rolling up her paper-thin sleeves to reveal a scarred arm, covered in slashes and puncture-holes. At least it won’t get infected this time.

As she poised the blade over her marked wrist, she couldn’t help but wonder where the staff was, the nurses and the doctors- I mean, she could clearly see the camera, glinting conspicuously in the corner of the room. Did They want her to do this? Would this finally show that she wasn’t alright, but that she was good enough to be one of Them? She had had many suicidal recitals before, but now it was time for the main performance- she hoped They would like it.

Time seeped away like a melting Dalí clock, though the girl hardly noticed it, too busy contemplating the razor to care. What would it look like when it was dripping red? Maybe I should paint the doctors a picture… They’d like that, right?

Out of nowhere appeared a beautiful woman, her peroxide-blonde hair shining in the mysterious light behind her, who seemed to be about Ariel’s the girl’s same age- she recognized the woman as one of her ‘friends.’

“Come on, dry your eyes, Ariel,” the woman said, voice distorted like she was underwater. The girl in question snarled inhumanly at the identification, wiping at the tears that she didn’t know had fallen. The woman stretched out her hand.

“Meet me on the other side- I’m sure you’ll like it there.” The girl sat, dumbly staring at the spot where the phantom had vanished, before a kind of corrupt determination filled her hazel eyes.

She straightened the razor over her tarnished wrist, almost with the air of someone enjoying peaceful afternoon tea, and then plunged it into her skin; the sensation was an everyday thing, by now, and she welcomed that pain, digging the now-stained metal deeper and deeper. The girl felt a sick sort of pleasure as she watched the dark red blood ooze, somewhat like a muddy waterfall, out through the wound- yet another battle scar to add to her collection.

When her lifeforce had pooled substantially over the plush ground, her vision nearly black as pitch, she dipped a thin finger into the medium and drew it across the wall, writing out a sort of apology in scraggly letters.

i meant it when i said that i want to get well

Then her vision darkened, she slumped the short distance to the ground, and the girl was no more.

***

The doctors were happy. After weeks of miscommunications and incidents, their most recent patient had gone an entire night without acting up.

But… who were they kidding? Through their camera screen, they could see Ariel sitting in the middle of the white room, staring blankly off into space. The way she sat, so relaxed… it was almost like the straightjacket was a second skin to her.

There wasn’t anything that Ariel Bloomer could do without Them seeing.