This girl. When she was in pain, she writhed on the floor. Then, motionless she sobbed. The tears would come, then they would stop, but her body only became more twisted; more limp. Piano notes filled her room. The melody helped her let it out, but it wouldn’t end. She retraced her steps in her mind and cursed everything she’d ever done. Arms outstretched on her floor, her mind also reached for an escape. A picture of a knife’s blade came to mind. It was sweet, like pulling off the highway after a long trip or a lover’s embrace. Yes. The reason that stopped her before was replaced with a need. A need for survival. She couldn’t survive like this, while feeling this pain, like waves crashing down and filling her with more than she had ever imagined was possible, cracking her shell and spilling her organs without a moment’s notice. To survive she would say goodbye. Her dreams were already shattered; they could no longer stop her hand from letting her life. She sat up and crawled, then picked herself up and ran through the doorway into the kitchen. She fell on the floor again sobbing. So this was it, she was taking control. Her mom’s face flashed through her head and she understood; this was something few people experienced. Sure, people die every day, every second, but not this way. Not this way. She stood up and wiped her face, smearing black-stained tears across her pale cheeks. The drawer opened silently, and she could almost hear her heart; it was pounding now. It would not give up its blood so easily. Questions ran through her mind: Where? How? Would it work? Would it hurt? She laughed. Would it hurt? The thought of that pain- it was a mere discomfort; a relief compared to what she was going through now. Another wave shot through her system and she fell back, with the knife in her hand. Minutes later she lay in her bathroom with it pressed hard against her wrist. She had to stop it from spilling her blood already, like it had a mind of its own.
Any last words? “Yes. I hope someone can make it. I hope someone will understand, because I didn’t.”
A world of black swallowed her. No, she swallowed it. It entered through her nose and filled her lungs, grasping her heart and wrenching it from her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. Seconds past and she lost her grip on everything: the knife, her consciousness, and best of all, the pain. She didn’t know how long it was before the roots began to grow. Slowly at first, winding circles in her stomach, and then they crawled downwards, to her feet, through her toes and back, wrapping around her ankles and shooting up, plowing through her neck. She screamed as the roots felt through her throat and grew into her mouth.
