november 23, 2013
this is the first two chapters of a story that i deleted but wanted to save. it was originally called 'shalom chaverim'.
chapter one
Record.
The button is red, a familiar, bittersweet color. Its the color of blood, which gives you relief and pain at the same time. You've grown fond of it, but at this moment it doesn't matter. The goal of this is so people know how much of your blood you've seen, how many tears you've shed, how much pain you've endured.
You press down on the computer mouse and the red light flashes. Wiping a tear from your eye, you sigh and give a small smile for the camera.
"Hey everyone," you say weakly. "Its the real me. The one you pushed around, called ugly, sometimes even slapped..." You trail off, biting your lip from the heartache. You look down at your wrist. A small, smudged infinity sign is drawn in silver Sharpie. It has done you no good, really. Every self-support system you've tried has done nothing. And now that infinity has come into style, you expected it to lift you up like it has to so many. You suppose you're just so different that nothing will work.
You lift the faded sign on your wrist to the camera. "You see this? Its just another dumb thing," you say. You lift your arm higher, showing off your scars, new ones and old. "These never go away. I'll always hurt. That's why I'm recording this right now."
Taking in a deep breath, you look straight at the computer, rage suddenly rampaging through you. "Look at me!" you exclaim. "Look at me! You all put me though so much and you don't even care that I'm an actual human being! You think its all funny, tearing someone up like this! Is everyone blind?! I just..." Your lip quivers. "I don't know what I did. Maybe it was just existing."
You pause, taking in the silence. You try to picture people feeling sympathy for you after this, but after you realize they'll just laugh at this video, you continue on. Just get this over with, and you can go.
"I've been doing this for so long. I quit, I'm done, I give up."
Tears stream down your face like a river, a raging river, a river that will swallow you up and eat you within a second of stepping in.
"As the Hebrew would say, Shalom Chaverim."
You hit the end button and stare at your laptop screen for what seems like hours. You did it. You don't need to do anything else.
Just jump off the cliff.
It will all be over.
Satisfaction and happiness surging through you for the first time in ages, you throw on a pair of jean shorts and a sparkling magenta tank top. You want to look nice when they discover your body, even if its in shreds.
You run down the stairs, still crying, and make your way to the front door, no one needs to know where you're going. You don't want any interference. No one can stop you.
"Hey!" you hear. The voice makes you cringe. "What do you think you're doing?"
You turn- one shoe on- and see your mother staring at you with her arms crossed. Her graying hair, being held by pins to the top of her head, looks dull against the loads of makeup she wears to conceal her aging, but you honestly only think it makes her look worse with the outrageous pinks and blues and greens.
"I'm going home," you say, tasting salty tears on your tongue.
"You are home, you idiot," she retorts, pulling a box of cigarettes from her pocket. You watch her take one out and light it, pulling it to her lips. She seems to have no sympathy or curiosity of why you're crying, just standing there with heavy eyelids as she smokes.
You just shake your head, your bottom lip wobbling. Watching your mother, who should be asking you if your hungry or how your day at school went, instead of screaming at you to get her a beer or to do the laundry. As a child, you always thought she was someone like Miss Hannigan from the musical Annie, who took in little girls who had no parents to take care of them. You were sure she wasn't truly your mother- she wasn't kind or loving enough. But then you found your birth certificate in the garage, under your mother's name and some man you had never met or heard of.
Your father.
Set on maybe finding him, you asked your mom where he was with your hopes high. She just gaped her mouth and slapped you right across the face. "You bitch! Why would you even ask? He's gone for a reason!"
You had tears in your eyes from the blow, but refused to let them fall. "I just wanna know who my dad is."
"Face it, you were a mistake!" she screamed. "You were never meant to exist! Maybe that's why you don't have any friends, because you weren't supposed to be here! I haven't seen him for years! And I never plan to!"
Since then, you've given up on trying to get friends, or finding your father, or being someone who belongs. And now, standing here with one shoe on and your mother almost done with her cigarette, you realize what you're doing is right. No one will miss you, no one will care.
"I'm just done." You thrust the door open and start running. Realizing you left your other shoe in the house, you reach down and throw your lone sneaker behind you. The gravel under your toes leaves a sharp pain through your body, but its nothing compared to what you've been through before. Just keep running. No turning back.
"Fine!" your mother calls. "Do whatever the hell you want, I don't care!"
Then, you hear the door slam. Hard, loud, and she did it that way without regrets.
The air is warm. Humid, sticky, a bit uncomfortable, but that's what you like. The warmth of the sun and the spray of the ocean make a perfect duo, always making you smile when you go to the boardwalk. Of course, its always on your own. You can't remember the last time you went there with another human being that you actually knew.
There's always that one time when Joe Blu asked you out, but that one doesn't count. At school that day, you were simply just exchanging your books from biology to geometry when his hand came over your head and onto the locker next to yours. You thought someone shoved him and needed to use the locker for balance, which happened a lot, considering how rowdy the junior class is, but the hand never left.
You looked up at him with question in your eyes. "What are you doing?" you asked.
He had a small smile on his face, just barely making dimples appear on his cheeks. He had sandy brown colored hair and emerald green eyes, which seemed to sparkle when you looked into them. You were clearly enchanted, but knew he didn't feel the same why. Why would someone like me? you thought, your heart sinking.
"Looking at the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he said, his voice low and confident.
You bit your lip. "Go to hell," you whispered.
"Oh, c'mon," Joe said. "You know you don't mean that." He reached up to push away the hair from your eyes, but you swatted his hand away. You wanted a relationship, you wanted to have your first kiss and have someone to hold hands with, but its impossible for someone to like you, isn't it?
"I do, actually."
He crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the locker. "So, you wouldn't want to go to the boardwalk with me after school? Is that what you're saying?"
You just rolled your eyes. But inside, you felt like you were exploding. Someone just asked you out on a date, and you were being a total jerk to him. This might not ever happen again, this could be the one and only chance to go out with a boy before college. And by then, you were certain you'd be using those cheesy online dating websites.
"Not necessarily," you mumbled, feeling heat come to your cheeks.
He smiled. "Great. I'll pick you up at six, okay?" Then, he was gone.
You admit you had fun on that date. Going to the boardwalk's amusement park and playing games and going on the ferris wheel. He won you a giant stuffed monkey at the water shooter game, and he even held your hand as you walked around the park. Everything was going great until you went back to the normal, bland boardwalk that just overlooks the salty ocean.
As you were staring out at the sea, wondering what you would be doing if you didn't accept Joe's date plans, he said your name quietly. You looked over at him with a small grin on your face. But he wasn't smiling, he was frowning, and there was sadness in his eyes. Eventually, he admitted that it was a dare to ask you out, that his friends would think it would be funny. He wasn't even planning on showing up, but he decided to anyway, because he still thought you were a nice girl. And it turned out that he had a lot of fun, and he would enjoy going out with you some more.
But, you were instantly heartbroken when you heard the word 'dare'. You glared at him with tears in your eyes and managed, "Like I said, go to hell."
Now, pushing through people who seemed to be having a great day in the sun and going to the beach and the amusement park, this place has only been haunted for you. When these people see you crying, some reach out and touch your arm, but you brush them away, or people ask you what's wrong but you don't respond. You just keep going as fast as you can, blocking out everyone else.
That's when you see the cliff.
And you just cry harder.
When you get through the crowd of people, there's nothing but open road ahead of you. You can do it, its right there.
So you run, as fast as you can, and you finally reach the end.
And you fall.
chapter two
Every girl is special in their own way. Too many of them, sadly, think its a bad thing. That being different, and not being mainstream, is the cause of not being 'popular'. Barely any girls in our generation think that they are beautiful; meaning clear skin, a thin body, or sometimes just having a 'misshapen' nose or ear. People blame different things for such beliefs, such as what they see on highly used social networks such as Tumblr or Facebook, where people like to show off their skinny bodies. One of the most committed problems has been a thigh gap. Another source is magazines, where many companies use photoshop to make the models look more attractive.
You sighed when you read this. You remember shaking your head, knowing that the media wasn't the main reason you felt like what they're explaining. So many people had told you them-self, that you're ugly and hopeless, that you shouldn't even try to change. People would just hate you no matter what your body shape was like or what you wore.
Its a sad thing, though, because what people see in themselves is usually completely opposite to what they are. They compare themselves to others and think to themselves: I have to be like this person, then I'll be happy.
But you never thought you could be like any of the people you so desperately admired. You weren't good enough. Your mother wouldn't buy the clothes and makeup you would need to look like them, anyway.
What they don't understand is that they're all beautiful, in every possible way. What do we need to do to show them that?
"We'll never understand," you had whispered.
Now, you're here. Still not understanding. Drowning in a concoction of salt water and your own blood, your screams muffled by the sea.
You're just waiting for your breath to run out or the rest of your blood to escape, so that the darkness will finally arrive and everything can just cease as you know it. No more of your mother screaming and hitting. No more being pushed around and being called names at school. No more cutting, or crying yourself to sleep or staying up to read cheesy romance novels because it was the closest you'd ever get to love.
As you fell, you could hear people yelling out in horror from above you. Exclaiming that someone needed to call nine-one-one and save the young girl. You never heard anyone say, "No, its what she wanted," or "She wants to be in heaven, she must have been living in hell." The things that would finally bring a smile to your face as you desist. That would make it worth it; knowing that people understood and didn't just see you as a crazy girl running off cliffs.
After floating for what seems like hours, you use the small remainder of your energy to open your eyes. The salt stings them, but its nothing like the pain you were encountering when you first landed on the jagged rocks. The water is a light shade of pink, which makes your stomach churn, and you see a school of fish swimming away from you, disturbed by the unknown color and smell. You decide to follow them with the breath you have left, to explore the depths where a species reins and doesn't judge.
They're all beautiful. Their scales shine against the sun above, all the pinks and blues and purples. They all look exotic and serene, living a happy life in the waters. You wish humans were like that, all naturally perfect and didn't mind what others look or act like. They just mind their own business, not caring.
Not caring.
You finally decide to stop trying. Your vision is blurring around the edges, your lungs screaming for air. You allow your arms to float above you and your eyes to close, your hair brushing against your skin.
"I'm sorry," you silently mouth into the ocean, and in that moment, it ends.
♛
You don't really know what you were expecting after you ceased. Honestly, you were pretty sure you would wake up in Hell, due to the fact that you're a murderer. There were some points when you considered the option of Heaven, but then you remembered you weren't good enough for that.
Opening your eyes and seeing the ceiling of your bedroom, though, was definitely out of anything your mind could imagine.
"What the..." You sit up, still dressed in your sparkly tank top and shorts, your arms covered in the same scars that were there before, no signs of being pierced by razor-sharp rocks or losing your breath. There's only evidence of being the self-conscious, broken girl you are. And that scares you.
So you scream. You scream louder than you ever have, grabbing your hair and kicking your legs like a child, tears instantly springing from your eyes. You can't still be alive. You don't want to be.
Your breathing heavy, you grab your cell phone with your shaky hands and check the date. Its Sunday, the day after you jumped off the cliff. Your mind is spinning; throbbing from confusion. You don't want to be here, you did what you did for a reason.
Slowly, you put your phone back down and bring your knees up to your chest, wrapping your hands around them. You look around, making sure you aren't in some sort of afterlife, but everything is just how you found it. Your old clothes that you changed out of to put on the magenta tank top are still on the floor by your closet, your laptop still open and running, the blankets on your bed twisted and flipped from nightmares the evening before.
You know you're in present life when your mother yells up at you; it one hundred percent confirms it. "Why are you screaming?!" she exclaims, but you keep your lips locked. She'd probably only hit you if you told her what's actually happening.
Somehow, you find the strength to stand and look yourself presentable. You run a brush through your hair, changing into yoga pants and a loose blue tank top. You aren't planning on going anywhere special, just somewhere you can stop and clear your head. A place that's quiet and serene.
You're about to grab the doorknob when you catch a glimpse of yourself from the mirror in the corner of your eye. You stop, letting your hand fall to your side. You don't really know what you were expecting when you step up to your own reflection. Your eyes are bloodshot with tiny pupils, your eyelids puffy and a purplish shade. Your cheeks are tear stained, but its hardly noticeable comparing to your arms, considering how they're cut almost to your shoulder. The rest of your body, looks just as sick. You're honestly a thin girl after working so hard to get the famous 'thigh gap', but you starved yourself for months and now you look too skinny and too fragile. After trying for so long to make yourself look perfect, you only brought more flaws to your appearance and health.
You bite your lip and turn away, walking to the door and leaving as fast as you can. As you bound down the stairs, you hear a male voice, deep and masculine. This can only mean that your mother has a new boyfriend over. She is a player of a woman. It seems to you that she has a new guy over every week, smoking and drinking together. Sometimes, you'd come home and see the two of them passed out on the couch with some sort of alcoholic drink spilled on their clothes, the house reeking of smoke (which it would have, anyway). You'd just roll your eyes, knowing you'd never see him again after he left the next morning.
You peek inside the living room to see your mother and a man around the age of forty, unshaven and dressed in a white t-shirt with khakis. Seems like the perfect match for her, honestly. Your mom is leaning against him, wineglass in hand, as they talk about someone in politics, which you know your mother knows nothing about. Suddenly, the man looks up and locks eyes with you.
Letting out a small gasp, you lean back, hiding behind the wall. You should get going.
"Wait a second," he says in a sober tone, so unlike what you expected. "You have a daughter, Bonnie?"
Your mom looks up, her intoxicated smile instantly turning down when she sees you poking her head out from behind the corner. She sits up, taking another sip of her wine. "Yes," she says, "but I hardly ever see her. She's always up in her room, hiding. What from, I don't know. Its kind of confusing and childish, yeah?"
The man knits his eyebrows as you silently slip into the room, your back still pressed against the wall. All her other boyfriends hadn't shown any interest in you, or known you existed, really. Exactly why this man is so confused about who you are- your mother hadn't even told him she had a daughter.
"And you didn't bother to ask her?" he asks your mom before turning to you. You gulp. "What are you hiding from, sweetie?"
Sweetie. Its been such a long time since someone called you a baby name and actually meant it. Your mom always says them in front of people to give off a caring, loving vibe, but she's never honest when she does. Not once has it been true.
"Life, I guess," you say, shrugging.
"Honey, why don't you-"
The man cuts your mother off with another question. "Did you hear about the girl who jumped off the cliff yesterday?"
You feel your heart dropping to your feet. So, you really did die. This must be some sort of after life, some type of internal punishment for trying to end your life. Maybe Hell wasn't good enough; maybe Satan knew how badly you wanted to leave here and decided that this was even better for his entertainment.
You open your mouth, weakly saying, "No."
The man nods, but in a disappointed way. "The officials don't know who she was or why she did it," he explains. "They've been looking everywhere for a family with a missing daughter who could have been the victim, but they haven't found anyone yet."
"Why are you telling me this?" you say almost immediately after he closes his mouth, crossing your arms across your chest. Your mother gives you the death stare, probably mentally wishing you would disappear.
The man, oblivious to your mother's actions, just shrugs his shoulders. "Just felt it was necessary."
You nod your head, turning to leave. This time, your mother breathes in a sigh of relief and the man starts up a conversation about kids, starting with, "Are there any other kids I don't know about?" This makes you smile just the slightest bit, knowing your mother is going to have a lot of interesting questions from this short-term boyfriend.
You slip on a pair of Toms, seeing that one of your Nikes are missing from yesterday. You'll probably run into it on the way, so you leave the first shoe where it is. You open the door, taking in a large breath of fresh air, and start running.
About fifteen minutes later, you stop in front of a large brick building. It has two large lamp posts on each side of the door, glowing against the sun that's silently setting. You woke up from your fall at four o'clock in the afternoon, which you figured out was approximately right after you ceased. You really didn't pay attention to the time when making the video and actually leaving, but now that you think about it, it was around three thirty.
Large black metal letters above the doors spell out the word 'library'. This was and is your favorite place to go; to just sit down and be absorbed into books that tell stories better than your own. It takes you on adventures you wish you could trek and creates worlds you wish you could live in. Books are like dreams. They always seem to be better than reality; a place you so badly wish you could go, but then again, they are just pictures in your head.
You walk inside and are instantly invited with a warm, welcoming feeling. To your right, there are rows and rows of book shelves and indented tables filled with DVDs and CDs, where you usually hang around. There are window seats with mothers reading to their children, even though the kids are squirming to get out of their grasp. On your left, there are tables occupied by students that look around your age, either looking at textbooks or talking quietly with the ones around them. In front of you is the librarian's desk where you can check out, and around it are tables with librarians who can assist you in what you're looking for.
You instantly make your way to the non-fiction section of the books, where all the biographies and informing books are. Because of your extreme curiosity and fear of what had happened to you, you're going to try hard to see if there are any other people who have experienced the same thing, or at least similar to it. The closest thing you can think of as explanation would be something to do with magic, or something religious. The thing is, though, your mother never bothered to go to any type of religion or church, so its kind of hard to believe.
You scan through the shelves and shelves of books, looking at the titles written on the spines. Magic for Dummies, Magic: how to, Magicians for Starters...You realize this is ridiculous. All these books are just for magic tricks; the illusions and things. These stories won't do you any good.
"Hey," you hear. The voice is almost silent, followed by a soft chuckle.
You turn, letting your hands fall by your sides. You see a boy with dark hair and eyes with a similar color, leaning on a shelf. Book in hand, he scans over one of the pages, then looks up at you. You ball your hands in fists, knowing that this boy will only taunt you for something or another. You've seen him around school.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asks. "Magic tricks?"
You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. "Trying to find a way for someone to like you, maybe?"
You take a step back, hurt by his words. Of course you want to tell him; you want to tell him what happened to you and the real reason you're looking around here. Then again, doing that would only leave everything in chaos-- if people believed you, that is-- or maybe call you a "attention-whore for making up ridiculous stories". You just don't see any possible way for it to work out.
You take another glance at the books. This is doing you no good. Why you thought you could find something there, you don't know. So, you just simply turn around, the boy's laugh pounding in your ears.
Deciding you don't want to give up on your hunt, you head over to one of those little tables where the librarians sit. They know pretty much everything about the library and books. You're sure she can help you with what you're looking for.
You sit down on the chair provided across from the librarian. She is looking at a computer screen through a pair of bifocals, her grey hair spilling over her shoulders. She is incredibly beautiful for someone who must be in their fifties or sixties.
"Hello," she says, turning to you with a friendly smile. She folds her hands and sets them on the table in front of her. "What can I help you with?"
You gulp, taking a deep breath. "I need help looking for, um, magical incidents."
"As in?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Like, things that have happened that just blew people's mind. Things that seem impossible to happen, but did."
"Did you check a Bible?" The librarian grins, as if its a hilarious joke. "That's the closest thing we've got, I think."
You sit back in your chair, biting your lip. "But I've never even touched one. My mother doesn't go to church."
She stands and starts walking towards the non-fiction section, where you were looking before. In the first row of shelves, she slides a large book from several identical copies, then comes back to the table. You watch her every move, wondering if this mystical book could solve your problems. When she sits back down in front of you, she slides it over.
You look down at it. Its large, at least a thousand pages, with a leather cover. The Holy Bible is in-scripted on the front cover. You place your hand on it, similar to what you had seen on court shows.
"That doesn't mean you can't start your religious life on your own," the librarian says.
When you look up at her, you see she is studying all your features, her eyes squinted a bit behind her glasses. "You look a lot like that girl who jumped at the boardwalk yesterday," she says.
You try not to look nervous as she stares you down. "Did they find the body?" you ask.
She shakes her head, folding her hands again. "I was taking a walk with my husband when it happened. Its a shame that such a beautiful girl would want to die. No one should die at that young of an age."
You stare down at the book under your hand, licking your lips. If only she knew what you go through everyday. "The sad part isn't that she's dead," you whisper. "Its that she needed to be saved and no one was willing to do that."