Burning Soul
She just simply stared at the ceiling as she always did, but she didn't care. Why should she? It was 11 P.M. on a glorious Sunday Night that only the month of June could provide, but she was denied the chance to experience that Beauty. While every other teenager in New England partied in fresh air of the darkness, she was simply a statue on a bed...staring at the ceiling.
She wasn't popular, she wasn't hip, she wasn't even loved. It was if the world only tolerated her because it had too.
She slashed her arm every evening for just one moment of attention, but it never came.
She had tried to commit suicide multiple times, but she never received the worried glance she had always longed for.
Tears quickly stained her soft skin as they have ever since she was born.. What else could you do when your parents show you nothing but hate and blame you for their failures?
Maybe that was her purpose in life? Maybe she was suppose to receive the hatred of the world, so that mankind would not sin against itself? If that was her purpose, then she could never forgive the Heavens for their crime against her.
She felt something she never felt before...was it a lose of control? Whatever it was, she felt she was only to blame.
She might as well give up her sense of free will, it's not like it ever helped her.
As if she was forced by puppet strings, she got up to change into her gothic attire.
Black shoes, Black Jeans, Black, Hat, her Black Shirt with the Red Bitter Star, and finally the violet colored glasses she had always cherished. She was ready as the Clock struck One.
As a mouse, she snuck into the basement to gather the gallons and gallons of gasoline that her family kept for some odd reason.
She drenched the basement floors.
The walls were next as she wish she could only roar.
Thoughout the halls she went, leaving no spot undrenched.
The bedroom doors soon found themselves consumed while their slaves only snored.
Her room was next as she remembered all the times they made her feel like a useless wench.
The Clock struck 3 as she finally left the front door
She circled the house quickly as she drenched the grass and outer walls with all that she had left. After her deed was done, she took out her one lone match. Ever since she found it in Grade School, it had been her good luck charm. Now it was its time to be her true savior. She quickly lit it against her skin and whinced at the horrid pain. She laid the match in its final green home.
The flames quickly grew grew out of control. They spread from their small patch of grass to to that terrible yellow "home." Now all the flames could do was grow as they consumed the home. As the flames reached their greatest height, the young girl could swear she heard a scream of both pain and joy somewhere in the distance.
Finally, Meg Griffin was free. No longer was she the abused toy in some wicked scheme of the Heavens.
As the flames slowly died, Meg felt...soulless. Was all of this just an attempt for her soul to commit suicide or was it her soul's way (her only friend's way) of letting her become free? If it was, Meg could only smile and say a small "Thank you, friend."
As the flames finally died, and the sun finally begin to show, Ms Griffin decided it was her time to go, and spend the rest of her life wondering whatever happened to her soul.
This story is inspired by both Malcom Fox's Pushed Too Far, and coffeexcoffeexcoffee's The Griffins, Through Meg's Eyes.
Thank you.