The Mystery of Anaïs Harper Hill.

i don't know

"write what you know so they say, all I know is I don't know" - watch what happens, newsies

~~~

Chemistry wasn't her strong suit.

Especially not when the day was so nice and warm, blue skies and a gentle breeze gently shaking the flowers awake.

She hasn't failed a subject yet in year 11, but her grades aren't looking too good. It's hard to get her to focus on a good day, but pair it with a massive headache and overly enthusiastic classmates, she felt horrible. Digging through her pocket, two tablets made an appearance before being forced down her throat with water. 

The headache felt like a mangrove tree, with gnarly, tangled roots clinging to the insides of her head, refusing to move no matter how hard she pleaded. Like the baobabs in Le Petit Prince, their roots bore through her mind, deeper and deeper until her mind breaks apart and floats away.

It's a peaceful thought, just being able to float away on a whim, isn't it? Untethered, unaffected by the complexities of time and space, but when you think about it, is it really peace when you have no control? She simply knew that she had the capacity to do so much more with her life if she had control over it. She'd only make minor changes, but those minor changes would completely change the trajectory of her life.

Would it be worth it? To allow yourself to snap, and then be left to retreat within yourself, doing your own thing, but leave everything you used to know? The people you've met, the connections you've made? To sever the bonds in favour of an unknown? She's always thought it would be peaceful to be the last human in the universe. Lonely beyond comprehension, yes, but peaceful all the same. Is that sad? I can't tell anymore.

Through the screen, I can see random words floating around her head. Esterification. Nucleophiles, electrophiles. Valence shells, seashells, beach, sun, fire, marshmallows, smoke. Asthma, lungs, ribcage, spine, oh god nothing's working... I can't breathe... in. out. in. out. in. out. stop. it doesn't work anyway, why should I bother? why should I breathe? what's the point?

The poor girl. Half her back is so locked up her movement and breathing has diminished so much. I guess mental does affect physical. She's hurting, she's sad, she's seen a psychologist and nothing has changed. Her wrist is constantly in pain, she can barely breathe, she can't eat without feeling like vomiting the whole thing out. What, what, pray tell, is going right in her life?

Collarbones.

~~~

xlyssx