She walks down the brightly lit hallway.The photos poison the wall with their fake happiness and joy. The pretend grins, smiles and laughs taunt her. However, the tiles, so unnaturally white, reflect the truth. Her torn, broken face are reflected off the tiles for the world to see; but no one does. Millions of silent tears fall slowly from her once-innocent eyes and splatter on the floor like a storm of regrets.
She tilts her head forward and forces the dressing gown hood over her head. She hides her face from the world around her; the world that has deserted her and left her alone.
She walks past her parents who are laughing and joking around. Joking about things that don't matter. Neither of them notices their daughter in the dressing gown, then again, no one ever does notice.
She wipes the tears from her face, only to find more spring in their place. She tries to control the shaking, the sobbing, but there is no point. It is uncontrollable and easily taking her over. Uncontrollable, no point; reminds her of her life.
She continues walking, head hung low, tears streaming down her face. Her parent’s laughter starts to fade into the distance until she is unable to tell the difference between the laughter and the soft dragging of her feet.
She opens the door and steps outside, hesitating as the cold air bites at her exposed skin. She continues to walk, through the yard, down the driveway, out the street. She wonders whether her parents have noticed her absence yet. She tries to tell herself that she doesn't care, but she knows she does. Deep down, even further than this depression that is haunting her, she can feel the longing for someone to hold her, to tell her she is loved and that everything will be alright. For someone to notice the barriers and break them down. For someone to notice.
But no one does; no one ever has. And why should they? Stuck in their own world of happiness, of blissful ignorance of the true world around them, of the horrors trespassing through society, of the monsters taking over people, bending them to do their will.
The dark, dimly lit street stretches out before her. Beckoning to her, promising her a new possibility masked behind the dark horrors lurking down the alleys. She walks past the shops, the houses and the parks. She dodges potholes and puddles, slips and falls quite a few times and lands on her face. But she doesn't care. She doesn't put her arms out in front of her to break her fall, she doesn't try and steady herself; she just lets herself fall. Scraping her knees and elbows, bruising her face and breaking her nose. She doesn't care. She won't be able to feel the pain much longer anyway.
Finally she finds the tree she was looking for. Dead and colorless against the grey evening sky. It was an old gum tree, probably once the highlight of the park. But now it was dead and hollow, grey and blackened with no leaves hanging from it's few lonely branches. The tree was hidden well; the council didn't want the tourists seeing such an eyesore in their park. An eyesore, good for nothing, She wipes away more tears as she compares the tree to herself. She was wrong, unlike herself; this tree did have one use, one sole purpose that had not yet died. She was about to bring that use to life.
She climbs it, branch by branch, not once looking down or looking back.
She stares out at the street below her, at the tauntingly loud, cheerful voices drifting from the houses so full of bright unbearable light. She recognizes her own house, her parents sitting down watching the TV. All thoughts of her out of their minds.
She looks down again at the ground, far enough away that, if she jumped, she would die.
She holds her necklace to her chest, the one with the charms. The cross signifying her faith in the Lord, a small ring given to her by the one she loved when they were only young, the heart charm from her parents, the unicorn from her friend. Memories, memories of people she has loved.
People who had only ever let her down.
She holds her breath and says a quick prayer. A prayer asking for forgiveness, asking that after this deed is done, her family and friends will go along their everyday lives like they always had; blissfully ignorant of the horrors encompassed in this world.
She finds the branch. The highest one. It is weak, but still strong enough to hold an empty shell of someone who used to be a bubbly, happy girl. It is high enough that if a person were to fall from it, the fall would end in death. Directly under it however, are rocks. Black from age, graffiti and weather. Eroded by the wind into sharp, rough edges. If a person were to fall from this branch and survive the fall, the rocks below would surely finish the job.
She looks down once. She holds no fear, no regret of what she is about to do. She had this planned for months now, ever since everything started, since those malicious rumours, since those merciless texts, since the depression grabbed her in its grasp. She had planned this for a long, long time.
She looks down once more and then,
she jumps.
