We're Almost There
At eight forty-nine at night, when mothers are kissing their babies and telling them to sleep tight, a crying, pregnant woman slowly makes her way to the doorstep of an orphanage she knows of just a few metres away. She's not walking; she's crawling, so slowly, with tears streaming down her shivering, pale and very very thin face. Rain pours down relentlessly on her. Thunder booms, but she doesn't see the flash of light that she vaguely remembers is supposed to come after.
She's twenty-three years old, though she looks no older than fourteen. Her life is over. She knows this and it tears her heart to shreds. She is going to die, and it will be tonight. She will not be here for the baby.
"We're almost there," she gasps through her sobs. "Almost, almost -"
She collapses, shuddering and groaning, as the pains take over her again. It hurts. It hurts so much.
This girl is a witch and her name is Merope.
She has a wand, a magic wand, but she is not going to use it. She isn't even sure if she remembers how to do the simplest of spells. And her magic was never good, anyway.
Sobs wrack her body yet again as she wrestles to stay conscious. Her eyes burn with tears and rainwater and terribly strong wind. She's just realized that her father and brother were right. She is worthless. She should've come to this conclusion years ago.
But she really thought she had a chance to get out of that hellhole, then. He gave her this child and went. She is worthless. She is nothing. Even if by some miracle she could pull through this (which she knows she won't), life has cheated her; it's gone too far. She won't let it continue to torture her any more. For the first time in her life, she is going to stand strong.
Agony rips through her veins, and she shrieks with both pain and rage. She is sick of this. She is sick of life. You will not cheat me any longer.
"We're almost there," she screams, hair whipping in her face and the rain and wind howling, trying to drown her out. She claws at her long, flying hair, trying to get it away from her face. "WE'RE ALMOST THERE!" She can do this. She can defeat this obstacle that life has placed in front of her, an obstacle that she swears will be her last. A raging fire glows in her eyes. She is not doing this for anyone, not for Tom, not for the child, not for her family. They mean nothing to her now.
She is doing this for herself. She is defying fate. She is going to settle one last score. She is twenty-three years old and her life is over, but I will fight this final battle.
"We're almost there." It's her chant, her mantra. "We're -" one step forward "- almost -" one step forward "- there."
Pain sears through her being, but she struggles on.
"We're almost there," is the last thing she says before she collapses on the doorstep and a woman rushes to help her. Thunder booms. She says it so weakly that nobody can hear her. But there is a fire in her words that has never been there.
Death is free to take her now. She's won this final battle with life. And she smiles quietly as her child is born, because she knows that death is working to take her away. It's an old friend to her. The enemy of life. Life has done nothing for Merope. It has tortured and bruised and beaten her. Death is a friend coming to take away all this suffering.
She takes one last breath.
Life owns her no more.
a/n: Okay shivering with panic my mum just randomly crashed through the door and I just managed to hide the iPod eek okay enough of my personal dramas thanks for reading the story! Also, I have my PM's turned off so I can't thank all reviewers personally, but (assuming that someone's going to review ...) thanks so much in advance if you review, I really appreciate it.