darkness, my old friend [standalone]

The sound had echoed in the room, just like a final cry, the signal to the end. The call to the ghosts and the spirits beyond; anyone, anywhere would be able to hear it. She hadn’t tried to mask the sound, she hadn’t tried to hide her intentions in the past month. She’d almost screamed it out- Ripred knows how many times, making sure there was no confusion as to what she intended. But she was filled to the brim with false intentions and half-hearted attempts, how many times had she cried wolf, how many times had she claimed the end, but never delivered? This time, for the very first and the last she had told the truth. She had not lied, had not faked it for attention, no she had done it.

She sat in the bathroom of the victor’s house. She sat, leaning up against the wall across from the mirror. Her body was slumped forwards, hands shaking, hands glistening with a ruby red substance that leaked ever so persistently from the gaping wound in her stomach. She’d chosen to shoot herself in the stomach instead of the head because she wanted to feel the pain. It pooled, a large circle forming on the torn white night dress, before it over spilled and began to spread across the tiles that covered that perfect, clean floor.

She almost regretted the mess it would make, but she didn’t have enough energy to ponder on something so trivial. Instead she screwed her face up, it contorted into a pain-filled grimace. It felt like a raging fire in her gut, it pooled there and every few seconds it would roar, blazing up and into her entire being, stealing the few breaths she had left. And soon it was difficult to breathe, each one made her entire body shudder, and each shudder brought on a new wave of unbelievable pain. It wanted to tear her entire being, it felt like fire was licking her, breathing down upon her, waiting to engulf her.

It all started with fire, how fitting it should end that way. The first time she had tried to end her pitiful existence it had been with a match, Kofa (that damned, invisible friend of hers) had egged her on, telling her the flames would purify the darkness within her, leave her soul bare and free to travel to the wonderful lands beyond. Was this fire doing that? Was it cleansing all her sins? All the scars? All the wrongs she had done? Was that why it hurt so much? There was too much to fix, too much to burn away and not enough time.

Her head hurt, her heart ached, whether from the impending darkness or the reality of it all she could not tell. It seemed far to complex and difficult to move her hand, but her fiery hair was determined to hang limply around her face, determined to make it ever so impossible to see her reflection in the mirror in front of her.

She tried to push it out of the way, her hand smearing blood across her forehead, the hair moved for a moment before it fell back into place. She had no strength to push it once more, so her arm fell limply by her side. She didn’t even have the strength to hold it to the bleeding wound.

Surprisingly the pain was beginning to fade; numbness had begun creeping up her stomach. It spread downwards, and it moved upwards, like a flower blossoming, spreading its pedals wide. It moved up and up and up, dulling the fire, washing it away. Cleansing her heart and soul, the coldness was beginning to sink, the opposing force to those withering flames, and the pain that had screwed her face upwards slipped away. Her lips arched upwards into a weak smile. But it was a smile all the same.

Those who knew the girl would know that a smile was little more then a dream in her mind. And that perhaps this was one of the very few genuine smiles she had ever given out. Her heart stormed rapidly in her chest for the briefest of moments as though it was trying to fight a battle, as though it was a soldier being surrounded by the enemy, swiping his sword left and right until he finally realized he wasn’t going to win this fight and that the best option was to surrender.

Then as though the conclusion was drawn her heart slowed, badum, badum, badum, each beat a silent echo, the drumbeat to the end. The final call to the finale of her song. It slowed, moved slower and slower, the coldness, that pain free coolness clung to her skin, covered her chest, danced around her heart, but did not claim it, instead it moved upwards, swallowed her neck and begun to climb her face. She could not feel her legs; she could not move her arms. There was no more pain, all that was there, was the beat of a dying heart.

With the last of her strength she looked upwards, glimpses of her face flickered into her own view, those dark grey eyes, those lifeless eyes, those sunken in cheeks, dark rings and pale face. Those were hers, she was looking at herself and she smiled once more, she watched her lips curl and then she closed her eyes. Her head fell forwards, and she listened, in the emptiness of the bathroom, she listened to the drip of her blood, and the beat of her heart.

Then all at once the coldness gripped her heart, and stole her final breath.

And Marina Goravich was no more.

Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,