My ancient bed shuddered as I threw myself upon the worn lilac duvet. My eyes brimmed with unshed tears I had managed to hold back for so long, as the pain overtook my senses. The sorrow and grief bottled up inside me exploded in a paralysing flood of emotions. The surge was overwhelming, and I began to sob. It was all too much, my mind was numb; the only emotion that ripped through my mind was grief. Grief for Matilda.
I didn't realise the troubles she had. I brushed off her worries, became too self-absorbed in my life, oblivious to her obvious distress. She kept informing me on the problems in her life, the bullies, the name-calling, the mental abuse. Then it started. I caught her in the bathroom, holding my razor, the agony contorting her pretty face. I watched in horror as she dragged it steadily across her ivory skin, the crimson blood dripping steadily from her arm. From there, the downwards spiral continued, until there was nowhere else to fall. She ended in a pit of despair. She ran out of hope. The night it happened.
I got home from school, after a tiring day. I called out my sisters name, but she didn't answer. I thought it odd, since she had her bag in the hallway, her shoes on the shelf, but I didn't worry. I didn't think. The evening progressed, but still, not a sound from her.
I walked into the bathroom. There she was. In the bath. Under the water. Her face blue with cold. The water red. Still.
All I found by her side was a dirty piece of paper. Splattered with blood, obviously ripped from a school book, I picked it up, and began to read.
'The faces are still here.
They never left me.
No matter where I go, what I do.
They are always there, watching me.
Waiting.
Their angry voices taunt my soul.
Their harsh words tearing through my sanity.
What is left of it?
The only emotion that rips through my mind at every waking second is fear.
People say that I am crazy.
But I think I see the world as it really is.
The faces rule my life.
Wherever I go, they are there.
They talk to me.
They comfort me.
They contain me.
But it always comes back to one thing.
They fear me.
What I see of the world.
So they mimic me
See me as a source of humour
The punch line of their jokes
Their uncertainty cost me everything.
I see the world through a lense
That lense is woven from the fear of humanity
The evil it contains
Leaves me paralysed
I can't stand the never-ending terror anymore.
I keep falling down.
I can't get up anymore.
There is nothing left to say.
And only one way out.
Death is just another adventure.'
