6:28 She thought back. Why is life like this? Always adding insult to
injury. She had memories as early as when she was three years old.
Falling down the stairs and getting yelled at for it. Making a mistake in
math and being humiliated in front of the class.
6:29 She never did anything to deserve the pain she dealt with. It simply
wasn't fair. Her mother hated her. She became angry with something as
small as breathing too loudly or scraping her feet on the ground. Her
father was indifferent. He just wanted her to please her mother. "Calm
down," he would
6:30 say. "No!" she wanted to shout. To yell at him for leaving her to
deal with this all these years. She would always end up saying "Yes sir,"
then take the verbal punches. "Idiot! Stupid! Worthless!" She began to
6:31 believe it after a while. How could she not? She grew up with no
continuous friends, and being hated all through elementary and middle
school. When she got home she got yelled at for getting a single problem on
a quiz, for missing a piece of dirt vacuuming. Sure, she had friends now,
but couldn't trust their kindness. She had always been used.
6:32 She cried into her pillow. Even in band, her passion. She was always
being put down "Get in line!" "Dress the diagonal!" Every insult flung at
her stung. She resisted though. She tried to put it behind her. She
couldn't.
6:33 Who would cry? She wasn't Sara. People didn't care about her. There
wouldn't be lines into the street at her wake. She wouldn't even have a
wake. She would be buried in a plywood coffin in a nameless grave.
6:34 She grabbed her knife. A simple cut. Down her wrist. She had cut
meat before. Knew exactly how much pressure was needed. The pain, she
knew, would be swallowed by the darkness quickly. She would barely even
6:35 feel it in the first place. She had enough numbing drugs flowing
through her veins already. She stared at her wrist. Brought her hand
with the knife over to it. She traced the line where she would cut. A
6:36 white scratch mark was over her blue vein now. She had no reason to
go on. The world had too many people like her. Contrary people. Hated by
the Church. Not that she cared what the church thought. She was Pagan.
She was gay. Noone would want her.
6:37 Blood. Blood ran down her now limp hand, making a quiet puddle on the
floor. Her eyes closed. It was over. She didn't have time to think. Ten
minutes. Ten minutes was all it took for her to kill herself.
6:38 She was now blacked out. Soon she would be dead. She didn't even
write a note. She became a nameless, faceless statistic in those 11
minutes.
6:39 She is gone.
