Work Text:
I wish I could.
. . .
Thursday, 15th February 2024.
The life of the moon near the clear, shallow waters.
I’m on top of a rocky headland and there’s a sheer drop to the bottom of shallow water just around the corner. The sky’s a summer blue sparsely littered by white cotton clouds that please the eye and the warm wind that curls around my form, fighting away the cold from the arriving night. The sky’s already turning yellow as the sun settles onto the horizon. Night time is approaching and the calm waves begin to become unsettled by the white dazzling moon.
Migrating birds fly above me in a V formation ready to go to the bordering countries in the hope of a hotter country to help heed their needs for survival. I have hope they do find the blazing sun in the next place they go to. It’s getting colder every day here. My hands shake and my eyes lose vision whenever I stay here. It’s so cold. So very cold and though the sun may blaze me with its hot gaze, I still feel cold. I no longer feel the cold or the heat of the autumns and the summers. I haven’t for so very long, especially in my blaring, bare house.
Who am I kidding? That house, if anything, is so full. It infects everything in its containment with its gloom and glory, fear and pain, noise and dreams. My house is the winter and the spring. It kills and births. Kills and birth, Repeat. Kill and Birth, Repeat. Again and again, Repeat. It ruins everything in its vicinity and reshapes it into what it is when it is. It makes you change and feel things so strongly you lose the ability to feel. It makes you hurt to the point it stops hurting. My scars fade into my shallow skin and between them, new ones appear. It was once a happy house, but in life, everything changes.
It’s the way of life…
Kill and Birth, repeat.
I walk on the sparse grass that’s slowly dying out in preparation for the winter months. I watch my feet in slow-motion as the hardening mud slowly turns grey as I continue to walk on the rocky exterior of the headland and on the same path I’d made several times in the past. My foot tapped against the stone. The view up here was serene, melancholic, and almost peaceful for the first time in ages. My face felt soft, at ease, and at peace. I no longer feel the need to scrunch up my face in anger–to fight–no longer need to harden my face up to prevent myself from reacting unsuitably. I no longer need to do anything and as I smile and think with wonder if maybe, just maybe, if I was born richer in both family and wealth, would I always feel like this? Would I smile as brightly as I am now? Would I cry with happiness as I am now? Would I stare at the sky in wonder as I am now? Would I feel as much love and appreciation for the world as I do now? I drift my eyes and let my eyes stretch across the light purple sky and let my eyes connect the stars together to form pictures of my imagination. I sit down and let my feet dangle on the edge and I feel the rock poke me, but I don’t care so I rest my back on the floor and close my eyes to see my own sky. It’s black and littered with white, shining stars and if you look closer to the stars that move in tandem, you can see a rabbit that’s hopping around the stars and colourful gasses that paint the sky different arrays of all the different colours of the rainbow and Ice cream that allows the stars impersonating it to smell of vanilla and strawberry delight! If you get close enough to them that is.
I open my eyes to the sky and notice the difference. There weren’t as many stars as there were in my mind. There are no bunny rabbit or vanilla or strawberry-smelling stars and there are no colourful gasses that paint the sky in a beautiful rainbow. It’s so bare. This world is so bare and confining it saddens me. I sit upright and can immediately feel the sharp pain on my thighs as I add more weight onto them. The skies were now pitch black and I couldn’t move. Not because I’m scared, but because I’m not strong enough and plus, if not here, where am I to go? Home where it’s bare and full? There’s nowhere to go. I just can’t lift myself up nor can I slide myself across in fear of my skin tearing from the stones on the ground. The only place I can really go to is down. If I fall, it’ll hurt for a second, but it’s better than hurting forever.
The seas are shallow now, but I know in due time they’ll rise with the moon and slam against the headlands. So, I can either drown or splat.
Which is why I question myself why I didn’t choose to splat or drown?
Is suffering for longer worth it? Worth it for who?
For you?
I wish I had the courage then to just fall and be free. I’d be able to feel as if I was flying—like some hero. Of course, then I’d meet my demise but at least I’d die happy.
I really wish I could.
I could.
Signed, Sakura.
I sit on my desk, staring dully at my sheet filled with writing I had messily made in class to avoid eye contact with anyone. There's shouting in the kitchen and in the corridor as two people shout at each other to tear the other apart until words are too much to handle and then fists are used. I have no idea whose head is being bashed into right now even as the loud banging gets closer to my room until something stumbles on the floor and bashes on my door. Again and again.
My eyes feel heavy and my hands and my feet feel cold. They shake and I suddenly start feeling a deep pain in my chest. My sadness was so great it pierced my heart. I imagine my heart’s thin walls falling apart to reveal an empty furnace. Now I know why I’ve felt so cold.
I weakly drop my pen on top of my diary and wonder maybe, just maybe, one last time, if this was my last hour as I felt my heart painfully twist and suddenly stop making rhythmic beats. Warm tears fall off my tear ducts as my face stiffens and relaxes under the spell of a deep long sleep.
My eyes lose focus and I slowly stare at my pen as it rolls off the edge of my porcelain desk and falls silently on the rough carpet.
Good night.