You'll be SO sorry when I've gone! 

Mary was fuming. Her body was hot with rage, and if she was thinking of it at the time, her hand could've melted the knob as she sung the door on apartment 267 open.

"I'M HOME!!" she sang out angrily, "I JUST HAD THE WORST FUCKING DAY!! DOES ANYONE GIVE A SHIT?? NO? WELL NO ONE CARED BEFORE!!"

It was around late March and throughout the school year rumors formed about her and in a second, she lost many of her friends and became an outcast. Boys were spy her alone in the hall, corner her, press her against the lockers and kiss, sometimes even drag her into the bathrooms. She started off telling the teachers, but few helped. Almost all were biased, although they denied such accusations. She stopped doing her homework as a protest, and the harassment was almost every other class period. Her parents were phoned, by the violence was going to extremes. Her father was becoming more violent, and there was a bit of a brawl almost every morning. Mary's uniforms were ripped, and then poorly mended each morning.

The assistance was given, almost always, by Jesus. He would see her, her arms and face cut and bloody. She would sit in Jesus's small, private bathroom with band aids and rubbing alcohol, as Jesus would be in the larger one, bleaching the stains and sewing the tears. Since Mary was constantly at Jesus's house, the rumors began here that she was sleazy, rowdy, and no good, hanging out in the scummy parts of Nazareth and Sepphoris.

The odd and scary thing, for her, this past month, was her mother. Every day, with bruises on her face, and the usual busted lip, her mother would whisper to Mary..

~

"Mary Magdalene! Listen to me!" Selene would hiss, "If I go first, get out of here. Take all the money you can, leave him, let him stay here! Go anywhere! Just, get out!

~

Mary didn't get it, exactly. She didn't want to think of her mother gone, and now, at the moment, her mind was rather far away from her mother as she shouted through the house. She stomped her feet, venting. After a moment, she decided to cool down.

She entered the bathroom and splashed some water on her face. It was freezing and little came out, they owed money, paying off bills with credit card after credit card, digging into savings accounts, reaping the rent money. In whatever was left in the broken shards of mirror, she spied an odd red color, she dismissed the thought and rationalized that her head hurt too much from the mornings beating.

She left without looking at anything in the bathroom, and realized that the room was too quiet.

"Mom?" she whispered. Regularly, this past month, she would hear something. Her parents fighting, her mother in the bedroom, cleaning cuts, her mother making whatever food, or her mother stealing from a large jug of coins in the closet (her father's jug).

But, today, silence.

"Mom?" she asked the silence. Mary began to walk into the living room. Her father was drunk, and the snoring loud. She hadn't recognized it when she first walked in.

"Dad?" she asked the drunk, "Where's Mom?" Snore. Her eyes fell upon the liquor bottle, the smallest rays of light reflecting, all pointing in one direction. The bathroom.

"Mom?" she asked louder, getting scared. She cautiously approached the bathroom. "Mom?" She slowly opened the door. "Mom?" There was redness to the bathtub. "Mom?" Her fingers touched the curtain. She felt a sense of forbidding. In a sudden impulse, she closed her eyes, drew back the curtain..

Mary slowly opened her eyes. Her mother, ghostly pale for her average complexion, head lolled back, hair wet, lay dead in the red waters of the tub, now tomb. Mary's hand rose to her lips stifling a cry of shock.

On the edge of the tub, rested a pink disposable razor, the same razor that Mary mused over a few nights before as she shaved. Mary thought then, Why not? If I did no one would notice... Unfortunately, Selene took the opportunity, seriously, first.

She leaned in and stared at the razor. It looked like it had been wiped clean a few times. Mary knew the razor was as dull as her father. Beneath the blades were the tiniest flakes of pinkish skin. It was clear what happened and how exactly it happened. Mary drew her eyes away from the blade.

"I'm sorry, Mommy." she whispered, feeling lost and lonely like a child. Her hand shook as touched her mother's cold cheek. She leaned in close to her mother's forehead and kissed it.

"I love you, Mommy."

She left the bathroom, composed herself a tad, and picked up the phone.

"Hello? This is Mary Magdalene of 146 Solomon Ave, David Apartments, second floor, room 267. My mom... my mom..." she began to choke.

"Yes, what happened to her?" the voice inquired calmly.

"She's dead. I think, I think she killed herself.." the phone was shaking wildly in her hand.

"Ok, go outside, tie something bright onto a mailbox or a street lamp. Stand outside. Wave your arm so we'll notice you, ok?"

"Ok... I'll... I'll get something, hold on.."

"I'm not leaving you." the voice said, in it's unnatural calmness.

She ran into her mother's room, scanned the closets, and found a bright orange sundress. Mary almost moved to the phone, but realized, that was her mother's favorite dress. Mary was holding in her hand, her mother's favorite dress that she would now use as a banner. She paused all action, staring at the dress.

"Miss? Are you there?"

Mary then ran back to the phone.

"Yeah," she sobbed, "I have... orange dress, I'll be... outside... with it... you'll know.."

"Stay calm, we're here for you."

She ran out of the apartment, and waited. They came. And, months later, she still was with her father.