Some souls arent meant for this world. I used to think that was bullshit. I truly did. Until i met her.
She was autumn, almost as a person. The first time i saw her i thought she was a figment of my imagination, with her freckles scattered over her nose and wavy brown hair. She wore suit trousers most of the time and flowing blouses, even to parties. I was 15 when i saw her roaming the halls of my highschool and fell in love instantly.
I couldnt keep her out of my head
I was 16 when we eventually met each other, quite literally ran into each other at a nameless party hosted at nameless house by a nameless face, talking for a while but drifted away.
But that wasnt where it properly started. Later that night i found her teetering off the edge of a roof, slowing leaning forward, pushing against the autumn wind, until i pulled her back.
Then she spoke.
"Wheres the meaning?"
And thats when i knew. She was something else, something raw and real in a world of strangers. She was always reading these peculiar books of entitlement and murder, never without her notebook scribbling down life. We had english and biology together and slowly became somewhat aquaintances i guess.
I was 17 when i found her, again at another party. She recognised me, surprisingly with all the amount of cocaine up her nose. When i asked her why she spoke her second real sentance with meaning to me.
"I want to be alive."
Later that night i found her hanging out a 5th story window, me grabbing her corduroy jacket just before she fell and my mind flashed back to last year and the rooftop.
She was always in an almost daze after that, never taking life seriously but that dizzy smile never left her lips. It was as if she felt she was invincible.
It was the eve before my 19th birthday when i found her notebook in my bag but i had no idea how it got there. I read it. Of course i did, her cursive handwriting pulling me in. And after i wanted to burn it.
It was obessive.
Thats the only word for it.
She was trying to find something, find a way to be truly alive and to find a purpose to what there is to existance. Endless pages scribbled quotes, lines, thoughts, even tests done upon herself and the people close to her.
But the worst thing was the letter.
The letter at the end to me.
It said only 6 words but they were enough.
My guardian angel let me fly.
It was only a few hours later when they found her, lying dead in a bath in her own blood. Suicide was the offical statement, parents wondering how they missed the signs and teachers starting mental health days, the usual.
But i knew.
They wouldnt have seen any signs because she didnt want to die, she wanted to live. More then any of us did.
And thats what i understand.
And maybe thats why i stand on the edge of the same roof from that party when i was an naive 16 year old.
Maybe thats why i'm going to let gravity tip me forward.
Her mind is contagious and i've somehow now found myself longing to be alive.
YOU ARE READING
Her - A Short Story
Short Story"She was special, i knew from the moment i saw her. She was raw and real in a world of people who wanted to be the same. I just never realised the depths of her mind and the shadows it held until it was too late and i was already in front of them"
