“Sarah” Character excerpt from an unfinished novel

I’ve been crying all day, but now that the time has come, calm has settled over me. The world has been put on pause and time has come to a stand still. Silence has fallen over my thoughts for the moment. Blessed peace. I never feel peace, only pain. I know what I have to do.

My soul is shattered. My purity and virtue stripped away against my will. I feel the vile darkness slowly consuming me. I hate that I have become a miserable shell of empty hopes and dreams that will never come true. All I ever wanted was to be happy. To be liked. To be loved. But love is not mine to have. My entire life is nothing but pain.

I’ve tried to fit in, to overcome what has happened to me, to be normal – whatever normal is – I’m not even sure I know what it means to be normal anymore. All I know is that the world hates me. It doesn’t want me in it. I’m tainted, blackened, ruined forever. All I ever wanted was to be normal – NORMAL! That word again! What does it really mean?

It’s my fault. I wasn’t born a fighter. I’m broken, inside and out, not whole anymore. Nothing will ever make me whole again. Never pure. My world is such a lonely place. I wish someone would hug me. Just hold me. If only someone cared, but no one does. I can’t blame them. No one would want this corrupted body. I’m sure the thought of touching me would be sickening.

I’m a waste of space. I suffer in my own private hell everyday. I just want the pain to stop. I want to finally rest in peace, to sleep. I’m so tired. It’s time. I have to go away now.

Please tell my mom that I’m sorry and I love her. Please get her help.

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Sarah signed the letter and laid the pen down on the vanity. She didn’t read what she’d written for fear that reading her own words would change her mind – it was too late for that. With one finger she absent-mindedly stirred a half empty cup that sat beside the letter, causing a straw to dance in the sloshing green liquid inside. Stunned by the wetness of the rogue finger, she slid it in her mouth, sucking it dry as she examined her reflection in the mirror.

Sad glazed green eyes accented with black eye shadow centered on a slim pale white face crowned by a halo of amber red hair peered back at her. The glaze grew more opaque with the passing of each methodical minute, making it increasingly difficult to focus. Tiny irritated veins in those eyes blazed red. On her thin black painted lips a stray speck of green liquid moistened the dryness. Using the corner of a tissue she dabbed away the blemish.

She stroked a stray lock of hair back from her cheek uncovering a delicate ear to which she gently pinned a silver butterfly-shaped earring – a gift from her father before her mother drove him away.

“My little cherry blossom,” he used to call her.

Her heart ached with the pain of how much she missed him and tears tried to break through her emotionless façade. With a deep breath, she sucked them back in – she would see him again soon. A thin smile flashed across the solemness of her face at the thought, but vanished just as quickly as she pinned a second butterfly to her other ear.

With a heavy sigh, she took another sip from the mug. The liquid zipped through the straw and doused the back of her mouth with its sweetness. Without hesitation she allowed the fluid to slide down her throat. She was beginning to feel light-headed, and her heart pounded in her chest, but she drew purposeful steady breaths and continued with the ritual at hand.

Around her neck she clipped a small silver necklace adorned by a modest crucifix – a gift from her father’s mom when Sarah was ten years old. The only other person to ever love her, granny had passed away from leukemia shortly after giving her the treasure. Her and her dad went to the funeral together, but her mom refused to accompany them claiming, ‘The old hag never liked me in the first place.’ That was the beginning of the end of Sarah’s parent’s marriage.

She let the crucifix fall into her trembling hand. Black polish painted bloodied fingertips that she’d chewed down to the quick. She held the symbol to her lips and whispered, “I love you,” before tucking the medallion safely away.

Her mother lay passed out on the bed down the hall sleeping off another heroine induced episode while the love of the month sat in the living room surrounded by empty beer and liquor bottles while he channel surfed. The house was silent other than the echo of rapidly changing voices spit out by the crackling television speakers.

“Tomorrow expect sunny skies with a high near ninety,” the local weatherman’s cheerful voice proclaimed before a hyperactive pitchman shouted about the greatness of a super towel that could absorb any mess. Too bad it couldn’t absorb the mess that was her life, she thought before the channel changed again.