Breakfast Club For Grievers

Chapter one: Defeat

Monday 27th May 2018 was a perfectly normal day for most in the small town of St Mowbergh. A quiet town in Herefordshire, known for being one of the most joyful towns. For, in this town there were no bad days and many visitors would often reciprocate that the residences in St Mowbergh lived in a peaceful slumber compared to the rest of civilization. This Monday was like any other Monday for the town's occupance. John Burner took his black labrador out for a walk at 7:00 like he did every morning. He then stood, like he did most days and appreciated the endearing scenery that comes with living in the countryside. On his way back, he passed the early workers on their way for another repetitive day in the office. And walking through the town at noon you would be able to smell the loafs of bread being made at the local bakery. The town would soon after become congested with children all wearing school uniforms at 15:00. The children were all piling into shops to buy unnecessary sugary snacks before they ventured home. They believed that these snacks would be enough to ease the struggle of it only being a Monday in a long week ahead. And at exactly 16:00 it had begun to rain, just like what the weatherman had predicted on the television. On this day the postman had successfully delivered all his mail and all the orders of milk had managed to be placed carefully outside the residence's houses by the milkman. You would have been ambushed in the town's centre at 16:30pm by the array of people unbothered by the heavy clouds and insisting on buying fresh produce from the local market before it closed down its stalls. Like every weekday, the local cafes turned their signs to close at 17:30, whilst the majority of workers in the town drove past on their way home. A day of consistency and normality.

Although, if for some odd reason one of the locals had a sudden urge to walk to the very edge of town that normal evening. And were so hopelessly obliged to stand directly outside Springfield house. A very plain house barely painted white, with exterior worn and grass long. The house being tucked away behind a hill had made it notoriously easy for residents to forget it's existence. So, if a local was oddly able to remember the property and when looking at the unembellished house had a sudden urge to climb it's walls to reach the upstairs's bathroom window. What they would see through that window would be anything but a normal sighting for a resident of St Mowberg.

There in that bathroom at 19:00 on the evening of Monday 27th May 2018 stood Emily Wilkes. A girl of 17 years of age. The stranger at the window would have locked eyes with the teenager. And with a glance they would see a girl filled with emotion. Despite her face being elevated emotionlessly. You would sense her pain more than what looked like she could sense it, as one would be able to see a numbness was flowing through her. You would see her long blonde hair being attacked with split ends and her roots drowning with the waters of grief. Her fingernails would be carelessly long. And her verdant eyes overshadowed with bags of sleepless nights. You would notice through the lack of movement in the teenage girl eyes that she was no longer a prisoner to time. In fact, it would look as if time had paused in her world. For one would sense she no longer obsessed over the ticks of a clock like everybody else. She had become immune to social norms. Napping in the day and starting life at night.

Her skin would have looked pale having not seen the sun for a whole week. And her feet would be fixated to the spot she stood. However, no intruder climbed up the window that day and all Emily saw when she glanced up at the world was a scenery that seemed overlooked and clouds that looked more grey than usual. If an intruder had been there perhaps they would have been able to seize what Emily possessed in her hands. But of course, once again there was no intruder. And the razor blade in Emily's hand was held tighter than ever.

She didn't fear death on this day, instead she warmed to it. For, in Emily's mind today wasn't her death day but her rebirth. Months of endless pain would stop. Her doubts would perish and her resilience would be unneeded. With a slice to her wrist she would puncture a door for her demons to flee. Her mind would be cleared and her pain simultaneously stopped. Her death would give her the freedom that she had only dreamt of in life. So that's why she wasn't sad with the thought of ending her life. For Emily her death was the only way she would ever be able to live.