Newfound Angel

She is a normal teenager. But she is being bullied for being a lesbian. These are her feelings and thoughts as well as emotions in the moments when she decides life or death. For the Project Remix: Creative Writing competition with 1023 words. Inspired by my favourite book in the lists If I Stay.

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1. Newfound Angel

Heart beating in my chest so loud, suffocating all my senses; drumming in my ears and pounding in my head, like drums echoing from the distance. 

Breathing is hard, the oxygen fails to fill up my lungs to sustain me another day. Watching people watch me with those judgemental, cold eyes like vultures circling over their prey of carcass is hard. Living in this empty, polaroid-like world is hardest. 

In silent screams, in the coldest darknesses and in the loneliest moments, I never would have imagined these possibilities that flicker through my mind every second of the day lately.

All those eyes following my every move, giggling in the hallways, not with me but at me. Despite this, the hardest confession for me is to realise that I'm different and that's apparently a bad thing. My sexuality of being a lesbian separates me from the rest of the world as a rule from society that I'm not welcome. Why can't I be who I am? Why can't I be accepted for who I am? Why can't I want who I want? These questions sink ships and turn away heads too often. 

Should I stay or should I go? I know all too well the people who would love to see me gone, one less person to deal with, they'd say. I could drink bleach and watch the sky turn gold as I fade away. I could swallow a bottle of pills and die painlessly. I could die of alcohol poisoning, waiting for the seconds to pass as the venom swims into my veins. I could drown myself and slowly close my eyes as I fill up my own lungs with water, screaming so loud but no-one would hear a thing, just like the way it has been for so long. 

I'm stuck. And it hurts. The pain hurts so bad. The blade cuts into my innocent flesh, and warm crimson leaks out of it. They said the poision- the 'bad stuff' they called it- comes out with it. The scars of white sufferings mark my body as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Her collarbones are powerful. Her ribcage is imminent. Her hips stick out at the perfect angle. More and more, they teased in the shadows. Less and less I felt, after the first cut. Thinner and thinner I became, after the toxins stopped entering my body. 

Perfection. The little notes embedded with scrawly handwriting posted into my locker said perfection was forcing the scale to read zero. The whispers behind my back and the devil's laughter in my ear said perfection was pushing a knife deep enough so that I would be numb. I liked the idea of not feeling anything. I adored the thought of feeling numb and building a little prison so that the voices could STOP. 

I want to get out of here. I need to get out here. I don't like the taste of the bittersweet memories of laughing and teasing and the pointed fingers in my direction. I hate the words that used to label me, the ones that now define me. LESBIAN-BITCH-FAT-UGLY-WEIRDO-DISGUSTING-BABY. The words tattoo themselves to my locker and now, into my brain.

I didn't choose this. I am this. And I can't help it. Please. Please make it stop. Salty water forms crescent rivers down my cheeks and I hear a shrilling sound, only to realise it came from my own open mouth. A wordless scream from a worthless girl, they branded. 

I tried numbing the pain. Pills, legal highs, alcohol, even the words from the tiny amount of people who care. You stay in my heart. A ghost of a smile forms on lips when I think of those who were willing to talk to me, spend time to get to know me. They begged me to stay, or at least consider it. I meant something to them, and they mean something to me. Beautiful, beautiful people. They made me believe something that was buried such a long time ago- that I have a choice. 

I choke out sobs from places within me I forgot existed. The warmth of a fire I had forgotten. The kindness of people who are willing to open their hearts to a disaster like me, I had forgotten. I remember my value. I struggle, but slowly the spark in me that is irreplaceable lightens again. 

My sexuality is not the most defining factor about me. Another sob racks through my body as I realise that it's just not enough. Heart beating in my chest so loud, suffocating all my senses; drumming in my ears and pounding in my head, like drums echoing from the distance. Breathing is hard, eating is hard, watching people watch me is hard. Living is the hardest. 

I admire those with the courage to stand back up after they've been beaten down, time after time. I admire those with the simple but powerful words that can help someone like me find themselves again. God, I admire those strong, influencial, daring feminists. I just wish I was as strong as them, because they mean something. I hope my words can save someone else. I know I'm not alone. I'm just a fallen angel, lost, who wants to return home. 

And I've decided. 

I grab the little bottle off the side and tip the colours into my mouth. I climb into the water and slide under the surface, feeling it against my purity. It almost heals my scars. Almost. I swallow, feeling the pills slide down my throat along with the last breath I will ever have. With my eyes still open in the blurry waves, I feel the sting of the water in them as I start breathing. 

The water fills my lungs.

The little angel opens her wings.

Heaven opens, becoming more defined as the sky become a deeper blue.

N o m o r e v o i c e s

N o m  o r  e  p a  i n  


I'm    finally       clean.

 

I  '  m  f  i  n  a  l  l  y  a  l  i  v  e

 


I'm      fr-

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