WARNING FOR THOSE WHO SKIPPED THE COPYRIGHTS PAGE: THIS STORY CONTAINS EVENTS AND LANGAUGE THAT ARE NOT SUITED FOR CHILDERN AND THE MEAK. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Elena is to this side. c:
annnndd this isnt edited so sorry for the mistakes.
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CHAPTER ONE
backbone graveyard
NOT EVERYTHING HAS AN EXCITING BEGINNING. Nor, does it possess nearly any qualities that would make it even noteworthy. Sometimes, things happen and they don't have a reason for actually happening. It just does. And in doing so, it doesn't effect anything in its neighboring surroundings, things with purpose, with meaning and real true life.
But endings always seem to go out with a bang. No matter the end, you always remember it. Whether it be as simple as the last bite of your favorite meal, or the last time you kissed your significant other, or even death. Theres something about endings that humans are seemingly drawn to. We clip out parts of the obituaries and put it on our refrigerators just for the memories. Endings give people a sense of life, sometimes, the end of something is really only the beginning because thats all we’ve ever expected.
We’re born, we live, we work, we get old, we die.
Everything dies, from Bram Stokers immortal Dracula, the neighborhood stray cat that finds its meals from the little old lady down the street, to moms, dads, sisters, and brothers. We all have our beginnings, and we all have our endings.
I had never really thought about how I would die until I was staring it straight in the face. Trying my best not to whimper and shy away from it. People claim that death is peaceful, happy and not nearly scary. The thing with that theory is, all the people who claim these accusations are clearly alive. They had never died and come back to life. So they clearly wouldn't understand something as complicated and meticulous as death.
Yet there I was.
The same plain old girl I had always been, standing on a chair in the backyard of my parents quaint little house in the pitch black awaiting a friend. Well, he wasn't necessarily a friend, or an acquaintance either. It was actually the first time I had met him upfront to be frank. But I would call him a friend only because he was kind enough to whisk me away from my own personal slice of hell to somewhere hopefully better. Somewhere where I was appreciated, somewhere where if I were to kill myself in the backyard of my parents quaint little house, someone would actually care.
I was never super religious. Yet my mother would always tell me, Elena my dear, God has the answers. Or one of her favorites, Elena my dear, God loves you endlessly. If he did, he sure had a weird way of showing it. Putting me through years and years of torment and neglect. If anything, he was just like them. Like all of them, pushing me closer and closer to my dear old friend.
I gave one more fleeting look to my backyard. To the spots of dead grass that were even visible in the dark, an old now abandoned dog shed and my old dinky tree house that was now nothing more than a dilapidated shell of what it once was.
I laughed, it was ironic. With time, my beautiful little get away deteriorated just as I did. It was fitting I guess.
There was a glint of humor filling my dead eyes as I stared at my tree house. Thinking about the memories that were held within their confines. Some were happy, like how my parents surprised me with my first puppy when I was eight by putting her up there for me to find. Her name was Dutchess, and shes dead now. The school bus driver wasn't paying attention like always and ran right over her without even a glimpse of remorse.
I wonder if i'll see her when i'm dead. Wont be long now.
There were quite a few sad memories as well. The most memorable being my old bestfriend pushing me out of the tree because she found out I thought her boyfriend of the week was attractive before telling the entire school that I had herpes.
Eighth grade was definitely a fun year for me.
In that moment I began to realize why humans adore endings. If there were no endings, there would be no memories for us to hold onto. Memories were what made us glimmer. Not the future or and beginnings. No, it was looking back on what we did after they actually happened. Not really taking the time to appreciate the moment when it was right in front of our eyes. We take so much pride in memories, even if they aren't our own.
The idea by itself is pointless. Keeping memories to hold onto even though we all know when we die, those memories will just be lost in a deep oblivion.
But this, this moment and memory will be lost as soon as I kick the already unstable chair from my unstable feet. My parents will grieve for a week, if that long, then move on with their everyday lives like nothing even happened. No one at school will bat an eyelash, but they’ll give sappy sayings that we all know, aren't true. She was such a good person, or something like, she will be greatly missed. And all the other bullshit lies that come natural with death.
This moment will be lost in the soft oblivion of the sea. Floating and drifting to the neverending bottom of the abyss that is the world. I will long be forgotten along with with my faded pictures in the school yearbooks.
Because, as much as people like to disagree with the sense that the sadness will stay forever and that it will loom over us for millennia to come. It wont. Me stepping off this stool into a new world will make people realize only for a fleeting moment how messed up the world is and how you should make the best of everyday. But eventually, probably sooner than later, they will move on to tomorrow. Not drenched in sadness from the so called pain of losing someone they knew.
They will wake up one day and just move on. Just like that. No rhyme, reason or motive. Passing people in the halls and smiling at what their best friend said not even remembering how it felt to have that nagging pain in a hollowed out an already meaningless soul.
As a child, our parents raise us to be kind and valiant. To do what is most honorable and treat others and we would want them to treat us. Somehow in all the rush of growing up those ideals have been lost to most. Making the real translations of love and hope inevitably lost. We grow into these hungry beings, craving materialistic things instead of the things that actually matter in life.
Instead of calling out for our mommy’s to defend us from the flesh eating monsters that reside underneath our beds. We form and shift into the very being we are so terrified of.
That was one of the reasons I was in the situation I currently am in. I myself was so completely and utterly horrified at becoming what I most feared that I would rather the deafening alternative that would ensure that I would never stoop to that level of self tyranny.
Of course there were other reasons as well. I didn't just wake up in the middle of the night and decide to drag a chair out the middle of my yard and tie a scratchy rope underneath a sycamore tree. This had been a planned out event that I had been scheming now for quite some time.
Seventy Five days ago I hit my breaking point and I had been planning my death ever since. I had attempted it a few times before, but it always turned into bloody messes and deep scars. The pills I took came back up not even an hour later and everything else I had tried ended up failing horribly. But this time, this time i was really going to go through with this.
Seventy Five days ago Dutchess was ripped from my life. Seventy Five days ago Amber Taylor spit in my hair and proceeded to chop off a good chunk of it. Compensating my once long brunette locks. Seventy Five days ago I learned that I didn't get into my college of choice, let alone any college. Seventy Five days ago I first attempted to end my meaningless life.
I had finally pried my wishbone from where my back bone once was and this was going to be the moment I would finally embrace my dark fate.
We were all gonna die eventually anyway, Im just saving the Grim Reaper from overworking himself. In all truth, I was helping him out. He would be greatful I saved him from Reaping me. Death awaited me, opening its onyx arms just waiting to hold me in its icy grip.
With one last deep breath I looked to the sun that was just starting to fill the sky with its beauty, I was glad I was able to witness one last sunrise before I was encased in the darkness I so desperately craved. I breathed out and swung, kicking the unstable chair from my unstable feet.
No one could tell me I didn't have a backbone now.