Darkness

Surrounding me.

Pushing in.

I struggle to

Breathe –

There is no need.

A spark,

A light,

A faint little

Beacon

Of hope.

But shadows press –

Further

Further.

They cover –

Smother –

Annihilate the only

Thing

To keep moving for.

I fall –

Give up

Give in

To the hands

The water

The waiting

Wanting

Grasping

Hands.

They pull me

Down –

Deeper

Deeper.

And then

Warmth

Safety

Comfort

The salt stings,

The smell of metal wafts –

Up

Up.

Crimson stains the

Black.

Fingertips on blade –

Sticky.

Sick.

Fingertips on flesh –

Sticky.

Soft.

Shrieks –

Muffled whispers.

Sobs –

A lone tear.

Anger –

A buzzing fly.

Eyes –

Unseeing.

And then

Black.

No one knows.

No one cares.

No one will notice.

No one will notice the –

One less face.

One less friend.

One less laugh.

One less victim

For you.

Quinn's fist closed, and the slip of paper crumpled inwards, just as her heart was doing. She squeezed and squeezed, until the white sheet became one compact ball of ivory. Tears leaked from her eyes, and they slowly slid down her cheeks to land on the slick, wan sheen of the sphere: all that was left of her. Why? Why did this have to happen? If only she had said something, done something, looked further and deeper. It was ridiculous to look back on. Those 100-watt grins never quite reached her eyes. Those beautiful chocolate eyes which were always filled with such joy were now blank and empty caverns of despair. Fury and sadness coursed through Quinn's body, and she threw the paper ball at the wall with all of her might. It hit the black paint and fell to the floor in an unsatisfying, soft collision. Its fragility hit her like an avalanche, and she sunk to the floor, ignoring the jarring impact of her knees with the worn carpet. Then came the flood, the downpour, the deluge of tears. Sobs racked her thin frame, and she collapsed forward, burying her face in her hands. Images flashed through her head. An arm exposed for a moment. White, pink, and red scars marching up a wrist. A flinch to go with an insult. A flinch to go with a wave. A flinch to go with an ice-cold slap of frozen corn syrup. Warmth slipping from speech, from a face, from a soul. Sounds started to filter through. Muffled sobs in a bathroom stall. A whimper of pain – ignored. How had it gotten this bad? Why would she ever do this? Why would she leave everyone behind? Quinn already knew the answer. They left her behind. They all had, at some point. It's true. No one cares to hear what you have to say until it's too late. And it was now too late.

A/N: This is just a short little thingamabobber that I wrote in honor of Halloween. And because I needed a way to express some of my depression in a (relatively) positive way. Read and/or review if you want. I would appreciate it.

Thanks

~Charlie