Life Gone Wrong

Tears meandered down her face, eventually falling from her fare skin. She filtered her strawberry-colored hair through her fingers, stopping to eliminate the various knots. Glancing up at the broken mirror hanging across the room, she took no notice of her mascara-stained face and tired ice blue eyes. 

Aimlessly swiping her hands across her cheeks, she attempted to wipe the moist tears from her face, but to no avail.

Thoughts raced through her mind, tears continued to race down her face. Faint sniffles escaped into the still air, the only sound that omitted silence from entering the room. The only room she could afford. The room that scared her. With shouts, gun shots, and murders happening all around her, it was hard to stay calm. She hated this small room, but was forced to stay there. Not one single room would fit her price range, and sadly this room would just  have to do. It's a plain room. With cracked, white walls, a simple twin bed with thin white sheets, and a small white lamp in the far corner, it wasn't the best place to be in if you want to be happy. Happiness was the last thing this place emitted, and Ivy was sick of it. Sick of everything, really. She had no friends there, only enemies. She corresponded with some of her friends in other countries, but was generally alone.

Ivy rocked back and forth on the edge of her bed, knees tucked close to her chest, tears stilling rolling down her cheeks, soaking her bright white tights. In all honesty, she blending in with they room, too. The only things that contained color were her hair and eyes, and even those were drained. Dark purple bags rested underneath her eyelids, presenting the fact that she hadn't had any sleep in weeks. 

Thoughts streamed through her head. She thought of the day she had, the things people said, and how they were so right. She was worthless. Usually, strength and courage seeped it's way through depression, and she could deny those words, but stress and pressure brought her all the way down. She couldn't do this anymore. It was all too much. She didn't want to wake up; she didn't want to open her eyes or stand. She kept to herself, not interacting with anyone, not looking at anyone, afraid of what she might see or the looks she might receive. She was unwanted. An outcast. Not among the people she so wished would accept her. 

Resentment for herself overtook any clear or sane thought she once owned, and she reached for the small pocketknife she kept on her bedside table to emegencies. Scrunching her tights up above her thigh, she slowly dragged the blade across her skin, enjoying the feeling and sight of scarlet blood seeping onto her skin. She enjoyed the color contrast of the red blood against her pale, fare skin. The pain wasn't enough, however, and she continued to cut across her both her thighs, forearms, and wrists, frantically trying to fill that gap. But nothing worked. Tears were now freely flowing down her face from the deep cuts, but she didn't take any notice. All she cared for was to fill this precipice that had taken place inside her, causing so much torment and distress. 

Suddenly, darker and more dangerous thoughts raced across her mind. She hated herself more than ever, and she realized that she didn't want to do anything anymore. She wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Never have to open her eyes and see anything. Slowly, she came to a decision. 

Taking a deep breath, Ivy Jackson walked around her room, observing every object that lay in her sight. She ignored the blood and the pain emerging from her cuts, because she knew it would soon be insignificant.

Finally stopping at her small white vanity, she pulled open the top drawer, staring at the contents. Pill bottles of various sorts all laid across the wide drawer, waiting to be used. She took out three bottles that she knew would do the job, and pooped open the lids, pouring two of each onto her hand.

Not bothering to grab a glass of water, she downed the pills. Ivy knew that she wanted to do this. She knew no one would miss her. They would grieve, possibly, but never resent anything they did, or wish for her to come back. She had made her decision.

Finally content about her future, she crawled into bed, ignoring the blood covering her white sheets, and finally fell alseep, never to open her eyes again.