The ground was iced over. Its temperature frigid like the air circling around me.
My body lay lifeless on the sub-zero h2o beneath me.
My tightly wound bun unraveling itself into curly locks of gold against my will.
My tightly wound gears rusting up over the years.
The left side of my face pressing against the snow, I could no longer feel it for I believe it has gone numb.
Just like I have. Over the years.
All of this nonsense about "It getting better."
What bullshit.
It doesn't, and anyone who claims so are fooling themselves.
I was born to serve and that's what I've done. My whole life lived for someone seemed more worthy than myself. Enough to where I didn't belong to me.
It's become too much. I've become too much.
The gun was in my hand.
The bullets were in the chamber.
The safety was off.
My finger was on the trigger.
Once was all it took.
One straight through the scull.
One.
And I was gone.
Someone is approaching me now, though I can't quite make out who as of this moment.
It was hard to use any of my senses. To be expected when you're dying.
I can't explain it. The emptiness. The hollow. There is no possible way. All I can say is that it was enough. Enough to make me do this. Enough. Like I wasn't enough. Enough for her.
For Bo.
Shut up. You were never worth it in the first place, and look at you now you coward.
God no those voices again.
Why should I take care of myself?
Why should I even care about this mess of me?
I don't let anyone in, that's my biggest problem.
I push people away so I have no one.
And I push them away because I don't want them to realize what I already know I am-
Disgusting
Worthless
I don't want anyone to figure me out...
I don't want them knowing how weak I am, so I show everyone my smirking face because it's easier than explaining the mess I have inside my head.
The person reaches me now, and is in a closer proximity than one would call a stranger.
One hand is placed on my left shoulder, as the other caresses the side of my face.
They start shouting at me, but it's not clear. Then they start shaking me. More violently each time.
This continues for a minute or two, before it slows.
The person must have decided it was no use to holler at a dying woman.
Something is said again.
It's the same amount of syllables as the thing the person was shrieking earlier.
But it was slower. Weaker. Softer. Barely audible.
But this time I was able to understand it.
Tamsin.
The person was saying my name.
I opened my eyelids with a great amount of strength, to see a beautiful sight before me.
"Tamsin," came the voice again even softer than before. The tone sounded as if a warm blanket was surrounding my chilled being.
The person was a woman, a short woman with brown hair and unmistakable hazel doe eyes.
Her touch was gentle and kind, unlike anyone else's.
"Tamsin...please," she pleaded quietly.
The woman laid down beside me, matching my position perfectly to where she was in easy eyesight.