You're mad thinking you could ever save me

You say I'm such a cliche

(he's so hot when he smokes god damn)

-Matty

Today marked one year since my Nana had died.

May, the 22nd.

Dressed in black ripped jeans as I walked through heavy rain to the cemetery, holding a bouquet of Sea Side Daisy's; they were her favourite.

Walking up to her grave while all the memories I had of her tore through my mind.

She was always there for me, whatever it was.
When I was 6 and fallen off my bike, or whether I was 23 and struggling with my coke addiction. 

I cried heavily, with tears stinging my eyes, bitter rain cascading down my cheeks and vodka burning my throat.

I fell to the ground, holding my knees against my chest, quietly singing to her.

I wished you'd walk in again

Imagine if you just did

I'd fill you in on the things you missed

Oh sleepless nights, a grown up man dressed in white

Who I thought might just save your life

But he couldn't, so you died

  I don't like it, now you're dead
It's not the same when I scratch my own head

I haven't got the nails for it

And I know that God doesn't exist

And all of the palaver surrounding it

But I like to think you hear me sometimes 

I stopped singing and jumped when I heard rustling in a tree.
I stood up, confused as to what it was.

Probably just a stray cat or something.

I turned the torch on my phone on and aimed it at the ground,

slowly walking over to the tree, careful not to make any noise.

Noticing empty bottle's of pills; Prozac (antidepressants) and Doxepin (sleeping pills).

I shine the torch up the tree noticing a girl wearing a Nirvana T shirt underneath a denim jacket, she has mascara running down her face and is holding an almost empty bottle of  vodka.
Before I speak, I notice a rope tied in the tree...a noose.
Realising what I've just walked in on, I shut my mouth and reconsider what to say.

I stand there, stuck, wondering whether I leave it to herself, and walk away.

Or I stay and talk to her, possibly saving a life, even for just a few days.

"H-hey..." I stumble upon my words, still confused as to what to say.
She doesn't reply. "Hey" It's not much, but I can't just ask her why she's set out to kill herself. I shine the torch on the tree, noticing that her eyes are shut, she probably hasn't even noticed I'm here.

Realising that she's probably unconscious and could die right now If I didn't do anything, I climb up the tree.
When I reach the top, I sit next to her, tapping her shoulder; no response.

I shake her shoulders, slightly yelling whatever falls out of my mouth.

My hand reaches her arm and pulls up her sleeve revealing hundreds of new carvings and old scars littered up her wrist and my finger grazes up her arm, feeling the bumps of scars and blood of open wounds.

It reminds me of my own wars I fought out on myself.
I attempt to ignore it and continue to check her pulse, it's still there but only slightly.
I lace my hands under her arms and around her waist, holding my phone in my mouth so I could still see.

I attempt climbing down the tree with her still in my arms, she's light and feels hollow, like she hasn't eaten in a while.

I adjust her and carry her over my back so her legs are hanging in front of me, I slide down the tree, encountering some scratches that sort of sting.

I lay her down near the tree, greeting the littered pill bottles and attempt waking her up but she doesn't respond at all.
I dial '000' and instantly regret it, realising that If I had attempted suicide, there was a reason and that I didn't want to end up waking in a hospital bed to continue my shitty depressing life.
But I couldn't live with the guilt of leaving a girl to die alone and not even attempting to save her.
I sit beside her, impatiently waiting to hear the sirens of an ambulance turn down the street.
I run my fingers through her hair, though she doesn't even know I'm here, but I think it comforts me more than her.
I start looking down her body, noticing all of her features, from the silky long black hair spread across the grass to her sharpie ridden converse.
As I examine all of her physical traits, I observe a crumpled and folded piece of paper.

It looks as though it's been worn out like a favourite sweater, used over and over again.
I reach to grab it from her pocket but jump when I hear the roaring of sirens racing down the street, I tuck it back in quickly, like hiding a secret.

Before I realise, there are four men surrounding her, pulling out a stretcher.

They pick her up abruptly and place her on the stretcher as if dropping something that burns your skin.

They push the stretcher into the back of the Ambulance and put an oxygen mask over her mouth, yelling things I can't understand and it starts to overwhelm me giving me an anxiety attack.

My hands start shaking and I kneel next to the Ambulance, I can feel myself dripping in sweat and breathing heavily.

Thoughts rush through my head, how old is she?

What's her name?

Where does she live?

What's her favourite colour?
What music does she listen to?

Who are her parents?
Do they care?
Does she go to school, university?

What gets her up in the morning?
What is the song that will always make her cry?
What did she want to do with this life?

Who hurt her this bad that she couldn't continue, or was it herself?

"Sir"
"Sir, you need to get up"
"Can you please get in the Ambulance"
I open my eyes to reveal four men standing around me again, two of them holding my arms ready to lift me.

"Get off of me!" I yell, I stand up feeling nauseous and walk to the Ambulance, sitting with my back against the wall in the van.
I feel the movement of the Ambulance turn down the street and the sirens blaring, the men are standing around her checking her blood pressure.

"Sir, do you know what she's taken?" one man asks, hovering above me.

" A-a bottle of Doxepin and Prozac and a bottle of Vodka by the looks of it"
I tangle my words.
"Thankyou" the man writes down on a clipboard, "and what is your relationship with her?"
He questions, "I-i don't know her,  I was at the cemetery and found her in the tree"

I replied quickly, just wanting them to stop asking questions, for it to be over.
"So you don't know her name or age or even anyone to call?" he requested, hopeful I knew anything. "N-no, she's a stranger, I don't know her!" I respond, annoyed, I didn't know anything, I meant nothing to her.