Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG-13 for suicidal themes
Summary: Night surrounds her and moonlight spills over the metal in her hand. A suicide attempt. Not a happy fic. GW
Irreversible
I was dark in this room. Night surrounded her, cloaking her in black. She had never really liked the dark, it had scared her. Her thoughts assaulted her in the nighttime, where she was but a helpless child to her own preying mind.
But tonight she welcomed the shadows. She did not want to see the blood.
Moonlight filtered through the window, a single shaft of the night's own sun reaching out to the small girl. It spilled into an ethereal pool just in front of her, illuminating softly the knife at her feet.
It was a pretty knife, straight and sharp, smoothly polished. The hilt was inlaid with blue stone that glowed softly. Light that would lead her into darkness. Silver vines twisted around the handle, blending smoothly into a blade as sharp as words. It was small, small enough to fit into her pocket, where she could run her fingers over the cold metal. They would wonder where she got such a knife. She would not be around to tell them.
That knife, it had been a source of security. When the foundations of what she knew were crumbling and she could feel the cracks through her heart, she could touch the dagger in her pocket and know that she could end it, end it all right then. She could make her mistakes and know that she would not have to wake up the next morning. Yet she had never put the knife to use. It had stayed, biding its time, until she did some horrible. Irreversible. Then, then it would be time. Then it wouldn't be on her to pick up the pieces.
And now sitting here, with her death poised before her, she supposed she should be afraid. But no, all she felt was an overwhelming, irrational sense of calm. Her thoughts were sharp, clear and horribly precise. Two words echoed through her head, her mantra in the night. 'Its time.' And her logical approach horrified her, but she knew.
She reached out her hand to grasp the knife and the moonlight spilled over her pallid skin. She was surprised at how pale and fragile her trembling fingers looked wrapped around the hilt, reminding her of the child she still was. Of the innocence she still clung to.
Thump
Thump
Her heart was beating its good-byes against her ribcage.
Thump
Thump
The blade was pressed against the soft skin of her wrist.
Thump
Thump
Maybe that wasn't her heart.
Thump
Thump
The blade slipped. The door creaked.
"...Ginny?"
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears
-Emily Dickinson
A/N: Angst whore? You know it.