stripper killer 2.0 [matty healy]

one

was this it?

was this how everything would end?

as a child, she had thought about her death. how it would happen, who would be present, and how shed be missed.

she'd always imagined she would drift off nicely to sleep as an old lady, surrounded by her family and the ones she loved. maybe some children, and a husband. they'd sit and hold her hand while she took her last breaths, it would be peaceful almost. she'd be comfortable in her bed, the familiar smell from the sheets engulfing her into blissful nothingness. it would be in her old family home where she'd spent the majority of her life making happy memories. happiness and contentment being the last emotions she felt before slipping from the world.

however,

this was nothing of the sort.

her hands shook as she scooped the last tablet from the pot. this was number fifty. each one she'd taken being a fight against herself, her body desperately trying to reject them, but after each wretch, and each gag, she'd swallow another. completely determined. nothing was holding her back anymore. she couldn't take being on this planet a second longer. every time she would regain consciousness another one would be put into her mouth. she was hell bent on dying.

and it was nothing like she'd imagined.

there was no children, nore husband. no family at all. she was alone, sprawled across the bathroom floor,  that was now colored crimson due to the pain she had inflicted on herself. there was no comforting smells, just the smell of blood, and the stale taste the pills had left in her mouth. there was no happiness, no comfort, and definitely no bliss.

it hurt. everything hurt. her stomach in knots as it dealt with the mighty amount of toxins running through her body. her wrists shredded from the brand new razor she'd bought especially for the occasion. her whole body turning pale and cold, she lay there waiting.

see, she used to have good days and bad days - but now it seems the good days had turned bad, and the bad days had turned worse and it's not that she didn't feel the pain, she just wasn't afraid of hurting anymore. it wasn't the first time she'd tried, infact, in was the third, each time being more clever and intricate than the last. she just felt like, if she died.. everything would be okay. she was lost i guess, sort of empty. things we're kinda falling apart and so was she.

it wasn't until a few months go she wondered what it would be like to die. what did it feel like? the obsession started small, a few google searches, and the odd scratch she would cause on her body. but then it began to grow, and completely take over and before she knew it her arms we're patterned with the overbuilding sadness that was inside her.

to her, it was art. each cut being a small masterpiece to add to her collection. it was an addiction, a rush of endorphins flowing through her body making her feel something.. anything. in a way, it made her feel closer to him. the way she too now enjoyed the sight of blood - only it was her own. she knew she wasn't going to get better, and truthfully, deep down, she didn't want too.

she couldn't even talk to her best friend, or her family, because in her head they deserved better. they deserved all the happiness in the world and she couldn't give it to them, because she was just so full of nothing. even if she felt she could, she'd never have the words to actually say what she was feeling because she didn't even know herself. it was all just black. every day that went by was just another twenty four hours of her not trying to end her life. every day felt like a lifelong battle and she had little to no fight left - and the tiny bit she did, she'd put into this act. today was the day.

her phone rings, several times over but she'd completely lost consciousness now, her weak frame completely still, the curtains had closed, the show had been and now it was over, and everything went quiet.

was this it?

was this how everything would end?