(ON HOLD) jade decides to die → victorious

7

The blueprint of her own demise had been meticulously etched into the fabric of Jade's consciousness for weeks. An intricate tapestry of plans and moments carefully woven together, each thread marking a step towards her inevitable departure.

The prospect of kissing Beck at the Hollywood sign, the final script in the performance of her life, felt like a poignant punctuation mark at the end of a sentence. An act she deemed essential before bidding adieu to the world. Yet, beyond that fleeting moment, lay a carefully choreographed sequence.

Once the kiss had been captured in the embrace of that iconic landmark, Jade envisioned retracing her steps homeward. She'd tread the familiar paths, bid farewell to her beloved Los Angeles, visiting her favorite places one last time. Riding the subway—her final journey through the veins of the city she loved and loathed in equal measure.

Melrose Avenue, a tapestry of memories woven by the strokes of youthful rebellion—piercings and tattoos etched into her skin, moments of rebellion encapsulated in a street. She'd run along its lanes, a silent farewell to the echoes of her past.

Amidst her itinerary, she'd indulge in her favorite food, savoring each bite as if it were an encapsulation of a life lived. Her little brother, a beacon of innocence in her tumultuous world, would receive a tender kiss goodnight, a silent promise that life would move forward without her presence.

Jade's return home would be timed with precision, the clock's hands whispering a late hour when the world turned a blind eye. The familiar solitude of her room would envelope her as she donned the same white dress that bore witness to her first and last kiss.

With measured deliberation, she'd draw the final act closer. Each pill collected, a symbolic step toward the awaited slumber, a peaceful descent into the unknown. It was a scene carefully curated from pages of literature and frames of movies—a finale staged with aesthetic precision.

As she drifted into the cradle of eternal sleep, the haunting melody of "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park would serenade her final moments—a haunting symphony echoing her true sentiments, the perfect score to accompany her silent exit.

What Jade hadn't foreseen in her meticulously laid plans were the imprints she'd leave behind—the echoes of memories, the indelible connections, the profound impact she'd unknowingly etch into the hearts of others. The unanticipated legacy she'd unknowingly forge in her quest to find solace in her own farewell.

(Author's note: the depiction of suicide in this chapter is supposed to be romanticized on purpose. Jade is only sixteen years old and doesn't realize the gravity of suicide yet.)