Briar
Burning overwhelms my chest as I heave. I cough, rasping until my throat is raw. I growl, hot tears pulling at my eyes. Why did I have to survive?
I push my feet up. I rip the dress from the stone, pulling it over my body. Why did I have to survive?
Hot tears pierce my death-cool cheeks as I climb the stone stairs. I drag myself up, hand curling weakly around the dripping-dew ivy. I fall out of the entry, curling into my body. The dewy moss kisses the tears cool, warming the life back into my cheeks.
With each breath more sickly sweet air pools into my lungs. It burns. It's a salve.
Where will I go now? What will I do now? I didn't die. I didn't realize how much I wanted too. This pain swelling in my chest, frustration brimming at the edges. I don't get why I didn't just die. Why can't I just die?
I have nothing left. Nobody sees me. Nobody chooses to see me. They all turn dull to me. Never will I be enough for them to take seriously. Aren't I enough? Why aren't I enough?
Why did I want to go back? Why did I want to feel that fierce blaze of hate again? I don't like it. I don't want it anymore.
I push myself up on the moss, my elbows pressing into the mud. A sob lodges in my hoarse throat. I choke on it, tears welling into my eyes quicker than I realize.
"Shit," I hiss. It turns into a sob, catching in my lungs. "Why can't I die? Why can't I want to live? What do I do?" My head catched up, sunlight slipping off leaves and dripping onto the ground.
I push myself up. I wobble on my feet, swaying as I stand. My dress brushes my thighs as soft of hands from a lover.
This is cruel.
Stepping forward, I rub my limbs clean. I didn't die. So I have to live now, right? I'll live now. I'll go back and I'll decide. Somehow, I'll enjoy living.