Lonely Girl


She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. It sent shivers down her spine. It hadn’t been an option at the time; she had needed it too badly. Couldn’t bring herself to roll over just the thought of it made her ill. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been happy, it all seemed so far away to her now. Tears pricked the back of her eyes like needles as she realised to a full extent what she had done, she hadn’t planned on it actually happening. The thoughts in her head whizzing around in a never-ending circle of doubt, thoughts of hatred onto herself. In reality she despised the sort of person she had become, she couldn’t stand herself. Nobody else could stand her either, jeering and laughing at her. Those hurtful comments had been the start of her downfall that was now at an all time low. At the bottom of the barrel of life was where you would find her. Suicide had most definitely crossed her mind, more than once. He rolled over, his heavy breathing and snoring a constant reminder of what she had become. She always knew she was destined for failure whichever path she chose. When she tried to run away from him he caught her every time and made it worse inflicting his own ‘special punishment’. Eyes wide open she silently cried into the pillow, thinking of how her friends had turned on her. Saying that they would not be associated with the likes of her. Not after they found out, found out that she, she couldn’t even bring herself to say it. The word pained her to her very soul, well what remained of the ruin that stood in its place. He stirred slightly and she prayed he would not awaken, not right now. He had rolled back over and started to snore again she felt a surge of relief flow through her blood and body. Then the familiar feeling of shame swept back, returning to her like a homing pigeon. Still not quite shaking off the feelings of angst and pain she decided to get up and wash his dirty, grubby hand marks off her. As the cold water hit her bare body she scrubbed and scraped at her skin that would never feel clean again. She carefully dried herself and pulled on her tight kinky looking clothes, she hated them, they made her realise what a slut she had become. Quickly peeking into his room she saw that he was still asleep, she was relieved she didn’t want to explain herself to him. The money was on the table glaring at her, she needed it but she felt anguish as to why she had done it. She went to the kitchen and picked up the knife that was calling, begging to her, picking up her money on the way out. Everything was dead outside; well it was 5:00am. Her feet guided her to the middle of the soon to be busiest square. As her eyes gazed over the surroundings she realised this would be the last scene in her life…was this the right thing to do. The knife in her pocket was so inviting and had a gentle sense of calming. Did she really have no other option than this? It became apparent to her that this would be her means of escape from this painful world, she was beyond the help that she had so desperately wanted from absolutely anyone. It didn’t matter to anyone else anymore; they wouldn’t even bother putting it in the paper. Maybe just the odd mention, she could imagine what it would say ‘non important tramp dies’. The knife glittered in the faint sunlight that was just rising. Now was the time, she gripped at the knife tightly. This was it the meaning of her whole existence was still a blur in her eyes. She had been brought here to suffer, to show others what a life of pain was like. No more would she be made the example of, the knife rose up in her shaking hand and in an instant her throat was slit. The world seemingly spun around her at and she slumped to her knees. It was too late for second thoughts now; no one could reach to save her even if they wanted too. Her last thoughts as she hit the ground… I’m free….

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a short story to teach you to never take advantage of what you have, and feel grateful for everything life gives you. It's one of my older efforts but it still means a lot to me

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Erica Berman's picture

Wow, this is a really great story! It has lots of meaning and relates to some of my poetry.

P.S. You like Rammstein!? I love Rammstein!!