(Disclaimer- I do not own Edward Scissorhands. I do not own any aspect of this story except Amy. If I did own it all, you could bet I wouldn't be sitting here writing a fanfic about it!)
Chapter 10Amy ran, it didn't matter where, just as long as it was away. But her mental exhaustion was too much for her, and she slowed down almost to a walk. For the first time, she noticed the sleeve of her shirt was sliced into ribbons, and she was soaked with her own blood. She cackled wildly, sure she had lost it this time.
She found herself in her own neighborhood. Before she could wonder how she had gotten there, she hurtled herself into her house. Her mother was gone. Good.
She hurried into the bathroom, and with trembling hands, took out her epilepsy medicine. It was still almost full.
"If I take them all, I'll never have a seizure again!" Amy said to herself in a singsong voice.
What the hell? Why do it like everybody else did? It was an easy way out. Amy's life was not easy. Her death shouldn't be easy, either. "I'll never get another chance to drive," she thought to herself. "A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Suppose she should have a seizure on the road?
"Then you'll probably die, which is the point of all this!" she told herself coldly. She flung the medicine against the wall. "I'll never need you again," she said to the shattered bottle on the ground. She went back outside. Fortunately, the neighbors always left their keys in the ignition.
Amy knew how to drive, she had always watched people driving with a fascinated longing. How she had always wished she could drive; the freedom it offered. Now, it offered freedom in a different form. She stomped on the gas, spinning out crazily. She righted herself, and set off down the road at ninety miles an hour, hoping she could leave her shattered heart behind.
Edward constantly was floating in front of her mind's eye. Every detail stood out crystal clear, clearer than the road itself. She squeezed her eyes shut, and then finally found what she was looking for. A giant overhang, underneath it a highway. The 'cliff' was immense. There was no doubt that if she drove off it at top speed, she would die instantly.
Amy fingered the steering wheel. The moment had come. It was time. She slowly pressed her foot to the gas, then lifted it as the car lurched forward. She tried again, but she just couldn't force herself to do it.
"Damn you!" Amy whispered to herself. "I always hoped I wasn't a coward, but here I am, and I can't do it! Why? What do I have left to live for?"
A sneaky thought entered her mind. What were you living for before you met Edward?
She sobbed. "Nothing! I had nothing to live for, and I didn't even realize it!"
You're wrong. You were living for life itself, for the hope that things would get better!
Amy shrieked out loud, "But they haven't! Nothing's gotten better! People my age are trying to kill me, the one man who doesn't care why I'm different doesn't love me, doesn't need me! Nobody understands! Nobody loves the spaz freak. I was stupid to think that would ever change!"
So now you just give up? Take charge of your life!
"I am," Amy muttered, her gaze fixated on the overhang.
Make something of yourself! Something that no one can look down on! Don't end your life over this! Don't wait for things to get better, make them better!
Amy sat drained from her argument with herself, then quietly turned off the ignition.
5 years later . . .
Amy sat in her Chicago apartment, and smiled broadly. Her latest book, the romance novel, "If You Love Him" was doing spectacularly. She was doing well, the income pulled from her full-time job as a writer enough to get her a fairly great apartment, and several unnecessary luxuries that she couldn't live without. She had a strong cult following, who read her every word almost religiously. She had had a few stalkers, but they were now in jail, where they wouldn't be bothering her. She had some problems with paparazzi, but she wasn't famous enough for it to become a real problem.
Edward . . .
Amy sat up suddenly, her feet thunking onto the floor. Where to hell had that thought come from? She hadn't thought of him in almost three years.
Amy smiled, remembering calling her mother, five years ago, after that fateful night. She had driven herself all the way to Chicago, and then phoned Rainy in a telephone booth. Rainy had been distraught and furious, and Amy had to do a little soothing, before explaining. Rainy had not accepted Amy's choice, and was coming down to get her, but finally Amy convinced her that this was the right thing to do.
And then Amy started sending big checks home to help her mother get along without her. She chuckled, remembering how quickly the nagging had ceased.
Amy casually picked up her book, her memories still fresh in her mind, and read the jacket cover. She frowned, a thought occurring to her. She flipped through a few pages, reading intensely, and then groaned.
Almost incident for incident, Amy had subconsciously written her own life story on these pages. Almost word for word. How could she have been so dense? Was she really that good at pushing her memories away until even she didn't recognize them?
Edward . . .
Amy shivered, and wondered for the first time in two years; What happened after I left?
Maybe someday she would visit. Maybe someday she would write a letter, or pick up the phone and call him. But not now. Not even soon. The memories were still too painful. Still too raw to be touched. But someday, she would go back, and re-visit her first friend.
THE END!
(That's all folks! Please review, I'm getting desperate here. Even a flame would be welcome!)