Abigail

She is everyone, and no one. She doesn't even have a name, because every day she is in a new life. She doesn't know who she is...or was. All she knows is the pain of these other girls, these living girls, the suffering girls.

She wants to know who she really is...but what will it take to find out?

WARNING: This Movella contains rape, bullying, suicide, abuse, self-harm, and other sensitive elements.

24Likes
39Kommentarer
7391Visninger
AA

15. Abigail

I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

    Not that there’s much of a here. It’s just an emptiness.

    I’m not even scared anymore. I just...float. I’m not anything. Just a tiny piece of existence in this endless space of nothing.



 

    Nothing.



 

    Nothing.



 

    Nothing.



 

    Abigail.



 

    Nothing?



 

    Abigail.



 

    Abigail, wake up.



 

    I can’t. There’s nothing to wake up from.



 

    Please wake up. They want...they want to pull the plug. It’s been a year.


 

    The plug?



 

    But I know you’re in there somewhere, and I know that you were having a hard time and I should have paid more attention...but I can help you now. Just...wake up.



 

    How? How do I wake up?


 

    Just...try, sweetheart.


 

    Try.

 

    Try to wake up.


 

    A steady beeping, a swoosh every few seconds.

Something is in my throat. What’s in my throat? It’s uncomfortable. I want it out but I can’t move. I try so hard to lift my hand.

 

    I hear a gasp.

 

    “Abi?!”

 

    A voice. A familiar voice.

 

    Mom?

 

    Mom!


 

    “Abigail!”


 

    Open your eyes. Open your eyes.

 

    Ah, that’s bright. That’s really bright. I close my eyes.

 

    Wait. I’m alive.

 

    Mom’s warm hand vanishes from mine. I hear footsteps and rustling fabric and commanding voices.

 

    Whatever is in my throat is being pulled out, and it’s uncomfortable and making me feel like I’m going to puke. I gag as the last of it slides past my lips.

 

    Say something.

 

    “Mmm...Mom?”

 

    “Abigail!”

 

    I open my eyes again. Not a bright, because there’s a head blocking the light. My mom’s face is gazing at me.

 

    “I’m...alive…”


 

    “Yes, sweetie, you’re alive, and thank God for that.”


 

    I am alive. I didn’t die a year ago.


 

    So why does everyone think I’m dead?

 
Vær en del af Movellas nuFind ud a, hvad det er alle snakker om. Tilmeld dig nu og del din kreativitet og det, du brænder for
Loading ...