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Chapter 9

9 minutes have passed.

9 minutes since I picked up the knife and sealed my fate. Death is at my door. My thoughts are no longer coherent and its remarkable that consciousness still greets me.

I slow my breathes. Or did that happen on its own?

Controlling my body is fantasy to me now, all I have left are my thoughts spilling over me. The finality of this moment greets me, I won't make it out of here. I'm too far gone. If I could laugh I would.

I would jump and dance, swallowing the rain and my breathe would be fresh. That childlike sense of freedom would return, and a smile would appear on my face.

My eyes can't see anymore, they're heavy and plagued with memories. My fingers are numb my head is blurry.

I've seen death. I've caused death. But this is the first time I've felt it.

I lie here. Begging my mind to stop. To stop churning, because when the finality sunk in so did the hope that I could make it through. The regret finally pushed past the walls. I don't want this.

No, I can't want this. If I do this, the last few months would be for nothing. I won't do this.

I lie here. There is nothing else I can do.

A plethora of thoughts escape my mind, begging my mouth to cooperate, pleading for the words to form on my tongue. Words that won't evaporate into air, words that will form, slicing the effervescent breeze, slipping into hearts. Words that are desirous to be heard.

But I push through, the syllable breaking through the hearth of my mind, the harrowing noise escaping my throat. Its laced with urgency and guilt, its laced with pain. It laced with the type of innocence only someone on their deathbed could manage.

"help"

Its barley a whisper.

It's a word that is rebellious to my previous actions.

Suddenly I want the eyes to fall on me. I want the surreptitious glances darting to and from me. Because if they're all looking, someone will come. I want help.

But here I am, buried underneath metres of unsaid words.

"help"

Its weaker than the last time, to describe it as an exhale would be more accurate. Its fractured and cold.

Then suddenly, my throat closes, it flares up, my oesophagus blocked, I yearn for oxygen, air anything. This can't be the end, it can't be. I have so much left to live. I have the what ifs; I have the maybes.

Making the decision of definitely, without any prior thought may have been the greatest mistake of my life. If I could cry I would.

Its too late now, all there is left to do is look at the back of my eyelids waiting for the light to come. I will answer life's greatest mystery.

Instead of meetind death open armed I will cower. He will know, hopefully he will be pitiful enough to send me back. Back to what? There's nothing left for me anymore.

-

When the fire burns and the embers dance in the sky, the falling beauty can distract from the bitterness that comes with ash and smoke. The bright lights dancing lazily above you are almost enough to distract you from the devastation.

Almost being the keyword.

Jenna looks almost peaceful lying there, in a puddle of her own blood, eyes closed. She could be asleep.

But the paramedics that come rushing up three minutes later don't think so, their movements are rushed and frantic. They cart her away, sirens blaring in their wake.

A smile haunts her tear stained face, and her eyes fall open.