Last TimeMature

The steps a girl takes, and the preparations she makes to commit suicide.

She threw the empty hanger on the bed and slipped expertly into the dress. The soft fabric of the black dress conforming to her bones. The dress, hanging off her shoulder unlike how it did the last time she wore it over a year ago. Before her life had revolved around food and how not to eat it. 

A year ago, the last time she had worn the dress, it was to a dinner. The rhinestones glistened in the moonlight. The restaurant was on the water, it was with her family for who knows what. It was the last time she was truly happy with her appearance and her life. 

She ran her fingers over the soft fabric of the dress, able to feel the raised skin of scars through the thin silk dress. The steady hand that had carved the raised lines into her skin, steadily reached for the piece of paper she had placed on the bed next to the hanger. 

The paper read things not to be discussed here. That is private information for her eyes and the person who finds her eyes, only. She turned the paper over in her hands. She had written and re-written it more times than she could remember. The words blurred together in a blaze of poetic and depressive glory. 

She stood over her bed, her room, these things that belonged to her. Forever would they belong to her, but never would they see her again. 

Slowly she turned around, letting the air fly underneath her dress, and paper clutched in hand. She crossed her room, and gripped the handle of her door lightly, but enough to turn the knob and exit her bedroom one last time. 

She made the short journey from her bedroom, down the corridor and into the small bathroom she shared with her younger sister and older brother. 

Once inside without anyone noticing, she locked the door behind her. Standing in front of the mirror she methodically applied the small amounts of makeup she would allow herself to wear to feel beautiful, one last time. Some blush here, eye shadow there, lastly a dab of mascara. 

She took a step back from the mirror and admired herself, she cocked her head to the side and ran her hands though her flattened hair. The soft hair that her mother used to braid, that her young sister used to pile bows into. She stopped herself before she let her mind carry on any longer. 

Reached up she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of assorted pills she had been collecting for a few months now. Carefully unscrewing the lid she slid onto the floor, and slowly placed the first pill into her mouth. 

With a swig of water from the tap, and a forceful swallow, the pill glides down her throat. She repeats this fluid motion, quickly picking up speed. Soon half the bottle is gone, then the other half. 

She reaches for another pill, but the bottle is empty. Gracefully, a smile creeps onto her face, and she lays down on the bathroom floor. The florescent lights leading her to the other side. 

The End

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