Welcome to Gaia! ::

Fear shines in her eyes as she looks into the mirror above the bathroom sink. She studies her reflection for a moment, focusing on the teary green eyes looking back at her. Turning her gaze down, she looks at the note on the counter next to the elaborate silver faucet perched over the perfectly round basin before her. Everything she felt, everything she thought, everything she knew was condensed into under a half-page of messy handwriting, each letter scrawled meant to beat sense and guilt into any one who happened to read it:

"You don't know me, you don't know anything about me. You don't know who I am. You don't know what I wanted to be. You don't know who I could have been. Who do you think I am? Someone outgoing, with a smile, right? Think again. Mine is a heart frozen by times of lonliness and sorrow. Mine are the eyes of a beggar. Mine is the voice of dead tommorrows."

Her good-bye to everything that had ever held her back. Her farewell to all those who had ever opressed her. This was her cry of freedom.

She gazed at the perfect roundness of the sink by which this cry for freedom sat, immediately resenting it for its perfection. It was at this sink that she had washed tears from her own face, tears caused by the very people who had claimed to love her. Quickly, she reaches out a hand, pulling up the lever behind the bright, laughing faucet, plugging the drain.

Raising the double-edged dagger in her other hand, she leans over the obnoxiously perfect sink, and cuts easily through the skin of her own neck, blood oozing from beneath the keen blade. Coughing and sputtering and spewing her own bright red blood, filling the sink. Unable to stand anymore, she falls with a dull, wet thud to the cold tile floor on which her bare feet had stood her just a moment before.

A mother, horrified, if not terrified, by the sight of the blood-streaked bathroom, and a sink dyed red with blood that she had come home to find. A father, guilty of everything in the note that he held in his shaking hands, reading through tear-filled eyes. A friend, tortured by the memories of the one that she had betrayed so many times. She watched them all. She watched, and she twisted the knife a little each day.

Through the window in her own little realm of shifting and dim shadows, she watched them. She would reach out, touching them with her cold, life-less fingers. She would watch them. She would watch them cry, beating themselves mentally, and physically for what they had done. She watched them shiver and screach at the sound of her broken voice, distorted by hatred and death. She saw them cringe at the sight of her cold, dull eyes once bright and green with life. She watched it all with a cruel, disdainful smile that reeked of vengance.

She would show herself to them as they slept. They dreamed of her stiff, frigid arms around them, each waking with the feeling of her fresh on their bodies, the image of her self-inflicted wounds fresh on their minds.

She would speak to them when they weren't listening to anything else. She would speak, and they would start at her voice. Coughing and sputtering through now dried blood; they heard every word. With every accusation, they listened and wept. With every rasping hack, old woulds would open anew, growing until they encompassed every aspect of what little remained of their lives.

A mother cries herself to sleep every night, listening to the voice of her dead daughter. A father is strangled to death emotionally by the lifeless hands of his own offspring. A friend is driven to insanity by the sight of her betrayed companion.

I've got to agree.. I love it... it's so emotional and dark... awsome

Great description and all but I failed to see a message or a reason for this girl dying. Yeah she had a crap life but you haven't said what bothered her the most. You vaguely allude to this. It would have been nice to know WHY the young miss took a knife to her neck. Yuck! mad

Wow... that there's a reason I would never have thought to use. That is an excellent idea!!!

Wow, very nicely done. It was very intense and emotional, and it had a point! There were a few spelling errors (like tomorrow and loneliness in the second paragraph), but other than that it was fine. The use of present tense was good too, and I think it made the story more interesting. Very good job!

I searched this story through and through for some kind of error. I can't just say "Wow! Good job! This story is perfect!" No, that goes against everything I stand for. Something had to be wrong, and I was going to find it, dammit.

I thought I found it, but after much thought, realized I was wrong. ( I assumed when you said "each waking with the feeling of her fresh on their bodies..." that you meant her flesh on their bodies. Then decided that what you have works much better)

So now I am simply left with this:

I hate suicide stories.

But I can't even hold that against this story because it is done so well. The story doesn't screm of pity and "woe is me." The character has sinister intentions, rather than just carrying out a desperate final act.

So, all I can really say is, this is a very good story. Good job.