49. the ruined remains

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The last chapter's warning carries on into this chapter. This contains scenes of overdose, mentions of suicide and various themes that may be uncomfortable to some readers. I am willing to summarise the chapter in pm if people would prefer to skip it <3

 I am willing to summarise the chapter in pm if people would prefer to skip it <3

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Thump, thump, thump...

Clara could feel her body being jolted as she remained limp. Her mind was trapped within, her body unable to respond to the functions her brain was screaming commands at. Her entire body ached, and her chest twanged with pain. She felt as if her insides had dropped and moulded together into one molten pit of hurt.

Thump, thump, thump.

She felt her body shift as her mouth dropped open. She was dying. She knew she was. She could feel it. It was getting colder, her mind was weak—her mind was never weak. Clara Shelby was dying. She was sure of it. She welcomed the feeling. The girl deserved it. She knew she did. She'd caused so much pain and suffering, she needed to die. It would rid everyone of their problems.

"C'mon, Shelby, don't give in that easily,"

A voice grunted and echoed in her hollow mind.

Thump, thump, thump.

Clara had almost winced at the voice, but it was warm and comfortable. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a winter's morning. It was familiar. Will was familiar. She was happy someone was going to be with her as she died. Dying alone seemed rather lonely.

Thump, thump, thump...

Clara often heard that once on the brink of death, you begin to relive every memory and the ongoing moment. Pol had said it was to check if you had to repent especially hard and beg a divine power for forgiveness. Clara thought of it to be some form of torturous test. Firstly, Clara Shelby didn't beg. She hadn't begged for a long time, she wouldn't give in that easily. And secondly, how cruel did one have to be to show the living to the dead? They talk of ghosts haunting people but what about the people that haunt the ghosts? To show a life lost a life living seemed to be like dangling a bone in front of a dog. It was teasing and barbaric.

Thump, thump, thump...

Clara's brain felt foggy, all emotions and memories blurred together into a technicolour swirl. She tried to think if she had a will...no, not Will, but a will, will. A dead person's will. The girl didn't have anything particularly important to will away and even if she did she couldn't even begin to fathom how to disperse it. Would Finn like her old hand-me-downs from their brothers? Would Arthur like the snow hidden beneath her room floorboards? Would John like the cigarette holder she'd stolen from him? Would Tommy like his books back? Pol her hairpins? Ada her broken vase that Clara stashed beneath her London bedroom floorboards?

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