Misery
Misery. What a funny word.
She was a player. Her life a lie. Not that she liked it that way. Her mother was never there for her. Her father, dead. At school, she was more than that. Loser, freak, slut... She ran away.
Misery. What a funny word.
He was dying. Hospital- bound for ten years. Sixteen years old, and he had been outside once. He had a permanent bump in his forearm from an IV cable, and hadn't stepped a foot out of his room in longer than he could remember.
Misery. What a funny word.
She could feel it coming. The rushing water of the bridge, underneath her feet. As she impacted with the shallow, rushing river. She felt it washing away. Her misery, gone.
Misery. What a funny word.
He felt it. The anaesthetic gas entering his vascular system. Another surgery. Again. He didn't even know what it was for. How many was it? Right, six this month. Seven planned for next month. If all was well, which-judging the circumstances- it probably wouldn't. He fell asleep, knowing that the surgeons were probably inside his left lung right now. Why did he even try?
Misery. What a funny word.
She tried. She tried killing herself, but no- she ended up a comatose patient in the local hospital. She died after six years.
Misery. What a funny word.
He died in surgery. It was enough. He had enough. He knew he would never get better, so he got worse.
Misery. Maybe not such a funny word after all.
