Hello hello~
I like to write, although at the speed of a lethargic snail climbing uphill with the motivation of a sleepy cat.
Also the first few stories are rewrites of older stuff so don't let the speedy post rate deceive you.
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She was grace, personified.
The gentle waves her hair naturally fell into, to the lilting tone of her voice when she spoke, even to the way she walked. She put one foot in front of the other without fear of where it would land; each step carried a sort of dignified confidence, and yet managed to portray the utmost innocence as well. Wherever she went, people looked, and who could blame them.
Soft eyes contrasted by the sharp lines of her glasses, the gentle contours of her face that suggested a youthful and yet laid-back demeanor (with the personality to match!) Simply being in her presence was a privilege, nay, an honor that I was only able to behold for a few intoxicating hours every day, more if I was lucky.
She had the heart of a true saint and couldn't stand to see anybody in pain, no matter how insignificant the issue was. Other people's problems were her problems, and she wouldn't rest until their smile matched the radiance of hers. If someone was feeling down, they got one of her famously warm and cuddly hugs. Her car was always open for anyone who couldn't grab a ride home, and if anybody ever needed someone to listen to, she was voluntarily the first one to fill the position.
This went on for years, and she wouldn't have had it any other way.
The fact that she grew up with distant parents and a twisted sense of reality made her kindness all that more remarkable, and she never once felt any sort of guilt or pity towards herself.
However, fate was a cruel mistress and had bound her to the worst kind of internal demons- the type that take a firm grasp on one's perspective on life, love, everything, and drag it down to the very bowels of Hell. They're persistent little bastards, and were the last thing she needed, or deserved.
The people that say she was weak didn't give her enough credit. She was strong, stronger than any other person could be under such circumstances. And she tried. She really did try.
Everyone else around her said they didn't see it coming- myself included.
I didn't see it at the time, but looking back at the warning signs, dammit I should have. The slight tremble her normally stable voice took on whenever family came up in daily conversation. Her eyes lost the trademark sparkle that had defined her all the years. She stopped eating, but according to her friends, claimed that she ate more at the other meals to make up for the one she skipped.
When anyone noticed enough to be concerned, she always dismissed their concerns with an "I'm fine", and a smile- sometimes it felt like she was trying to convince herself more often then not.
It was almost as if she had split into two different personas- one being the cheerful little girl I fell in love with, and the second the one who gave into her internal weaknesses and was horribly corrupted as a result.
It was perfectly normal that they wouldn't get along. And boy, did they fight.
At first, it seemed as if she was winning. The normal side, I mean- the other one wasn't part of her, it couldn't have possibly been.
For a few happy weeks, it seemed like she could manage, or at least keep some control over it, whatever it was.
That, however, turned not to be the case at all.
Once every few weeks her darker side would take over. It wasn't as bad to the point where she was openly crying in front of another person; no, demons or no demons, she had the self-restraint not to completely lose control in front of others. You could tell something was up if you looked closely, though. She isolated herself, seemed to take everything a little more seriously.
The days immediately following were interesting as well. She was even more cheerful, more so than usual, almost like she was trying to make up for the previous day's behavior.
Nobody thought anything of this- soon "once every few weeks" turned into once every few days, and increased even further beyond that.
Picture a thin rickety bridge spanning a bottomless chasm.
Now, 2 girls sparring in the middle. Both evenly matched, both determined to rid the other. As they blocked the other's strikes, their desire for victory only increased, leading to bigger and more ferocious attacks.
As anger and frustration built, the bridge did the opposite. The tension from their conflict yanked on the thin ropes holding everything up- it was only a matter of time before?
One day, she found herself alone in a room with a gun.
A rope snapped.
Raised it to her head.
Boards started to crack and splinter.
Pulled the trigger, and with that, gone. Falling forever into the abyss, never to be seen again.
At the funeral, they mourned her death.
"Sudden tragedy." "Unfortunate suicide." "Nobody saw this coming".
None of this sat right with me. None of this was sudden, and just because noone was there for her, didn't mean we couldn't have predicted this if we looked closely. And yet-
Suicide.
Well, technically, she was the one who did it.
But was it really her mind that could have done such a horrible thing?
...No. No! I refuse to believe it! The girl I knew, the girl I loved, wouldn't have done anything to hurt me like this, if anything, she should be the one doing the comforting right now!
That illness?it took her. Changed her. Locked her past self inside an airtight box and threw it away, never to be seen again.
This was no suicide.
It was murder.
