Prose

VI

She's just a young girl. That's all she ever was. But she's always known something was off about her. Ever since fourth grade when news of the 2012 apocalypse began to spread three years before the rumored date, she knew it would be no inconvenience. She wanted to die.

She believes in a heaven and a God and the angels. But she doesn't believe she was meant to be alive. Maybe this life was a bet; the angels got a bit bored. Maybe they wanted to create a girl, someone not at all special. They wanted to see what she could bear.

Maybe they wanted to see how many tiny, painless things they could throw at her until it hurt. It didn't take long.

She was unappreciated, unloved, uncared for for years on end. Her moments of happiness would be stomped away with something meaningless.

She always overthought things. From the boy she loved to the girl who hated her, she put too much into things. Maybe she wanted to end this bet, but not on her own. That was up to the angels.

Maybe they'd give up it they realized it didn't work. Oh, but they wouldn't. Because it worked, and it worked well. She wanted to die more than anyone wanted to live.

In fourth grade, she wished for the apocalypse.

In fifth grade, she wished for cancer.

In sixth grade, she wished for happiness.

In seventh grade, she wished for death.

In eighth grade, she wished she could disappear into the thinnest air until no one even remembered who she had been.

Oh, she wanted to smile a real smile again most of all.

But there are some angels in heaven hellbent on throwing in that last bit of sadness until she breaks.

What they don't know is that she broke in fourth grade.

You won, okay. You won.

Now kill me.

Please.

March 15, 2014 5:08 pm